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OVER  THE  BRIDGE 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

BY 

ELLA  M.  TRUESDELL 


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BOSTON :   RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 

1905 


Copyright  190S  by  Ella  M.   Trufsdetl 
All  Riehls  Reserved 


Printed  at 

The  Gorham  Press 

Boston,  C.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


Over  the  Bridge   7 

Winter  Faces  12 

Steps    12 

Death  Loves  All  Seasons 13 

The  Wind  Through  the  Pine  Trees 14 

The  Little  China  Boy 17 

Ah!    When  is  Love's  Blossom  Fairest/  ....  19 

A  Valentine  in  June  ig 

April's  Crying  all  the  Time 21 

There  is  a  Happy  Land 22 

///  the  Streets  of  Laughing  Toii'ii 23 

The  Grayness  of  the  Day 24 

'Tis  a  very  Thoughtless  JVorld 25 

A  Rift  of  Blue 26 

An  Autumji  Flower 2y 

The  Life  of  a  Day 28 

Autumn  s  Gold 28 

The  Maple 29 

Szveef  Bye  and  Bye 30 

The  Good  and  Evil  Sprites 31 

The  Butterfly  'Mid  the  Asters 32 

Maples  'Round  a  Clover-field 32 

Little  Ships  are  Sailing  out  33 

The  Willows  by  the  Stream 34 

The  Call  of  Chanfieleer 35 

I  Think  of  Roses  as  I  Pass 36 

Falling  Leaves   36 

/;/  Cherry-time 37 


M1919.19 


PAGE 


How  Szveet  the  Robin's  Soiii:; 38 

Above  the  Snoiv  39 

Out  in  the  Fields 39 

Thro'  the  Pines 41 

Life's  Roses   41 

It  was  the  Happy  June 42 

Why  God  Made  I'iolets  44 

Arcadia    44 

Banners  of  Autumn    46 

Winter's  Sparkling  Whiteness 47 

The  Little  Bn)ok  Sings  On    48 

Glimpse  of  Green  and  Gold 49 

Keep  on  Smiling  50 

Tzvilight i^o 

The  Green   Old  Pine    51 

June   52 

Forget  the  Joy  that  onee  zvas  Yoms 53 

The  Briers 54 

Ah,  Where  is  Fancy  Now? 54 

The  Golden  Month   55 

The  Frosted  Boughs 56 

In  March  Bells  Ring  for  Spring 57 

The   Weather   58 

January    59 

The  Days 59 

/  Came  from  Eden's  Garden   6i 

/  IValked  in  Thorny  Ways 62 

In  Her  Water-proof 63 

/  Love  the  Bright  June  Days 64 


PAGE 

Taunt  not  the  Old 65 

April 66 

Nature  Wears  Golden  Smiles  68 

The  People  You  Meet   69 

A  Legend  of  the  Cistercian  Monks 71 

Lonely  —  Unloved  7^ 

April's  Blue  and  Gray 74 

Flower-Aphorisms   74 

Tiger-Lilies    75 

Sun  Flowers  76 

A  Pink-White  Glory  of  Clover   77 

White  Lilies   78 

The  Roses  of  the  Year 79 

The  Friendly  Holly-Hoeks 79 

When  Fields  Shozv  Harvest  Gold 80 

Sweet   Peas    80 

White  Roses 81 

Wild  Field  Butter-Cups   82 

The  Red  Rose   82 

Daisies  in  the  Rain  83 

Croeus,  Purple  and  Golden    84 

Scarlet  Poppies   84 

The  Blue  Flozver  (Happiness)    85 

Morning-Glories 86 

Our  Friend,  the  Dandelion 87 

Forget-me-nots     83 

'The  Old-Tinic  Lilac  FHo'-n'cr 88 


OVER   THE    BRlDC^'fi'-' 

Over  the  bridge,  I'm  trudging-  on, 

All  uncertain  of  fate. 
Knowing  not  what  of  duty,  care, 

Sorrow  or  joy  doth  wait. 

Over  the  bridge,  while  the  waters  'neath. 

Sing  on  in  sweet  content, 
Of  a  land,  that  is  all  unknown,  as  yet, 

Undiscovered  continent. 

Over  the  bridge,  I  can  but  go, 
Though  oft  with  laggard  step, 

For  I  must  see  the  world  beyond. 
Though  the  bridge  o'er  waters  deep. 

Over  the  bridge  must  others  go, 

On  their  accustomed  way. 
Not  knowing  what  will  come  of  the  night. 

Or  what  will  come  of  the  day! 

Over  the  bridge !  see,  flowers  bloom, 

Ah !  there  is  an  emerald  dell. 
And  a  robin  sings  his  cheery  glad, 

You  too,  hear  silvery  bell  I 

Over  the  bridge,  they  pass  and  pass, 

Merry  youth,  and  too,  the  old. 
Each  with  a  dream  of  love  or  fame. 

Some  with  a  scheme  of  gold. 

Over  the  bridge  with  a  sigh  or  laugh. 

It  may  be  a  sob  or  song, 
Over  the  bridge  from  day  to  day, 

Thro'  the  spring  and  summer  long. 


Gv6r  the'  bridge  till  the  autumn-tide, 
Doth  bring  its  shower  of  leaves, 

And  the  farmer  gathers  his  fruit  and  grain. 
Fills  his  barn  with  garnered  sheaves. 

Over  the  bridge,  while  the  daisies  nod, 

To  them,  as  they  forward  go, 
Over  the  bridge  in  the  rain-drops  hum, 

In  winter's  starry  flakes  of  snow. 

Over  the  bridge,  some  scatter  bloom, 

Let  fall  some  withered  flower, 
Some  rose  that  has  but  told  its  tale, 

Of  summer's  favored  hour. 

Some  violet  that  droops,  in  blue, 

Or  lily's  soiled  white, 
A   morning-glory,  in  its  pride. 

Some  blooms  that  once  were  bright. 

Over  the  bridge,  they  chatter  too, 

The  merry,  girls  and  boys  ; 
Unheeding  now  the  flow  of  stream. 

Or  near  discordant  noise. 

Over  the  bridge,  some  tiny  elfs, 

Do  trip,  trip  on  each  morn, 
The  little  ones  who  wonder  oft, 

To  what  in  life,  they're  born. 

Over  the  bridge,  a  dark  cloud  lowers, 

And  oh  !  the  thunder's  boom. 
The  lightning's  play,  would  we  were  o'er. 

Were  out  this  purple  gloom. 


Over  the  bridge,  while  golden-rod. 

Doth  make  a  palace  by. 
The  asters  twinkle  too  like  stars. 

In  purple  fairness  nigh. 

Here,  sedges  of  the  cat-tails  brown, 

And  lily-grasses   green. 
Make  the  woodland  world,  that  we  love  best, 

While  great  trees  toward  us  lean. 

Over  the  bridge,  till  the  day-light  goes. 

And  over  the  bridge,  at  eve, 
In  Luna's  white,  and  in  star-light  e'er. 

While  the  wind  doth  sing  or  grieve. 

Over  the  bridge  in  the  morning's  rose, 

Or  in  the  noon-tide's  blue. 
When  the  sun-set's  crimson  floods  the  west, 

When  fall  first  gems  of  dew. 

Over  the  bridge,  when  the  wild-bird  trills. 

Its  matin  or  vesper  near. 
When  all  the  world  has  said  "Good  Night," 

Or  calls  the  chanticleer. 

Over  the  bridge,  to  meet  a   friend, 

Or  may  be  pass  a  foe  ; 
Over  the  bridge  thro'  years  and  years. 

Thus,  the  many  go. 

Over  the  bridge,  to  sing  a  song. 

Or  to  tell  a  tale, 
To  speak  a  word,  that  will  help  some  one. 

In  morn's  gold  or  ev'ng  pale. 


Over  the  bridge,  to  do  or  dare, 

Over  the  bridge  to  try, 
Over  the  bridge  to  conquer  oft. 

To  be  defeated,  die. 

Over  the  bridge,  while  some  rose  is  sweet, 

That  we  must  leave  awhile. 
The  home,  where  father,  mother  dwells. 

The  wife,  our  loved  one's  smile. 

Over  the  bridge  to  toil  and  plan. 

To  work  for  weal  or  woe, 
To  destroy,  to  alter  or  to  build. 

Thus  over  the  bridge,  we  go. 

Over  the  bridge,  while  hills  beckon. 

As  if  to  say,  "Do  come," 
Over  the  bridge  to  leave  our  kin, 

Over  the  bridge,  come  home. 

Over  the  bridge,  with  no  thought  of  ill, 

Perhaps,  borrowing  trouble. 
While  the  waters  answer  with  placid  smile, 

Or  with  a  white-foam  bubble. 

Over  the  bridge,  when  March  winds  howl, 
When  April  showers  make  cleaner. 

When    hay    has    dropped    from    some    wagon's 
freight, 
We  almost  need  a  gleaner. 

Over  the  bridge,  when  the  May-flowers  bloom. 

And  the  crocus  is  yellow  in  garden, 
Over  the  bridge  when  the  day  grows  warm, 

Roads  seem  to  grow  smooth,  harden. 


Over  the  bridge,  when  the  June  is  here. 

Roses  wreathe  all,  red  glowing, 
The  pinks  and  pansies  too  are  sweet. 

Over  the  bridge  coming,  going. 

Over  the  bridge,  which  the  rainbow  meets, 
With  its  colored  arch  in  summer ; 

A  promise  glad  to  all  who  cross. 
Whether  old  or  some  new-comer. 

Over  the  bridge,  passing  slow  or  swift. 

With  light  or  heavy  burden, 
We  must  pass  o'er,  and  we  must  press  on, 

As  if  to  find  some  guerdon. 

Over  the  bridge  must  pass  with  care. 
If  we  hear  some  teamster's  voice ; 

Over  the  bridge,  safely  to-day, 
In  your  safety,  rejoice. 

Over  the  bridge  must  the  surging  tide 

Of  mortals  pass  to  and  fro. 
But,  each  may  make  it  way  to  Heaven, 

With  His  angel  may  come  and  go. 

For  life  is  but  a  bridge  to  cross. 

Waters  to  other  side, 
The  minarets  show  very  fair, 

Of  citv  where  we'll  bide. 


WINTER'S   FACES 

Winter  has  a  spring'-like  face, 
When  you  see  her  blue ; 

For  her  skies  are  changing, 
Though  to  cliill  winds  true. 

Winter  turns  a  sunned  cheek. 
When  you  see  her  gold ; 

But  her  lilies  are  in  frost. 
No  rose  her  fingers  hold. 

Winter  waves  an  Autumn  flag. 

All  in  sober  brown ; 
For  her  winds,  this  standard  move, 

While  first  flakes  come  down. 

Winter  links  with  seasons  three, 

Still  she  has  her  way ; 
And  most  often  wears  a  frown, 

Looketh   stern  and  grav. 


STEPS 

From  spring  to  spring, 
A  stair-way  of  green  ; 

From  summer  to  sunmier, 
Steps   of  roses   between. 

From  autumn  to  autumn, 
Mount  on  rain-bowed  leaves 

And  winter  to  winter, 

Steps  of  snow,  after  sheaves. 


In   life,  hope's   emerald 

May  gleam  thro'  the  years; 

Joy's  roses  blooming 
After   sighs   and   tears. 

Rainbow  leaves  of  vision, 

After  fading  rose; 
Fair  dreams   of   Heaven, 

In,  between  chill  snows. 

Of  old  age  and  sorrow. 

So  Hfe  speedeth  on. 
As  seasons  swift  changing, 

From   shade  to  bright  sun. 

DEATH    LOVES    ALL    SEASONS 

One  dies  in  the  Summer, 

When  brightest  roses  bloom  ; 

And  friends  for  love,  with  roses, 
Sweet  roses,  deck  the  tomb. 

One  dies  in  the  Autumn, 

When  first  the  winds  blow  chill ; 
The  leaves  all  gold  and  crimson, 

Cover  the  graves  on  hill. 

One  dies  in  the  Winter, 

When  all  like  a  wreath  in  white, 
Flakes  as  pure  as  lettered  marble. 

All  things  like  the  dead,  so  white. 

One  dies  in  the  Spring  time. 
When  all  the  world  is  fair; 

When    the    resurrection    promise 
"He  is  risen,"  fills  the  air. 

13 


"THE    WIND    THROUGH    THE    PINE 
TREES" 

Do  you  hear  the  wind  sigh  in  summer. 

Through  the  pine  trees  green  and  tall ; 
Above  the  bright  June  roses, 

When  the  birds  so  blithely  call? 
Do  you  hear  the  wind  then  sighing, 

Though  the  sky  so  cloudless,  blue? 
All  is  radiant  in  sunshine, 

All  white  in  the  morning  dew. 

Do  you  hear  the  wind  through  the  pine  trees, 

Do  you  hear  their  sad,  sad  moan? 
As  though  all  earth  were  grieving, 

O'er  the  wrongs  that  none  would  own. 
O'er  the  wrongs  that  ne'er  were  righted. 

O'er  the  wrongs  that  none  would  see  ; 
For  this,  in  spite  of  earth's  summer, 

The  trees  sigh  so  mournfully. 

Do  you  hear  the  wind  now  crying. 

Through  the  pine  boughs  waving  so  green, 
O'er  a  grave  still  greener. 

As  though  they  all  sadness  mean? 
While  in  memory  droops  the  willow. 

And  flowers  bloom  for  our  love ; 
Oh  the  wind  doth  cry,  as  if  seeking, 

Some  answer  from  One  above. 

Do  you  hear  the  wind  as  it  movirneth. 
When  the  ground  with  snow  is  white? 

O'er  lost  hopes,   it  sigheth. 
For  vanished  Spring,  the  summer's  flight. 

It   sigheth,   sigheth,  ah,   so   vainly, 

14 


For  earth's  hopes  Hke  fading  flowers, 
While  the  green  doth  say,  "Look  Upward,'' 
"Hope  ye,"  see  Heaven's  bowers. 

Do  you  hear  the  pine  trees  murmur. 

Sigh  on,  as  in  lonehness ; 
Crying,   some  homes   remember, 

Take  God's  gifts  there  to  bless. 
Pass   on,   some  little   favor. 

To  help  in  the  home  of  need  : 
They  plead  for  the  widowed  and  orphaned, 

For  those  who  are  sad  indeed. 

The  pine  trees  cry  in  the  shadows, 

As  the  wind  comes  to  the  trees ; 
They  moan  in  the  sunlight  often. 

In  the  kiss  of  the  passing  breeze. 
And  we  see  the  bright  stars  through  them, 

In  winter's  gray  of  night. 
These  stars  when  we  hear  the  chiming. 

Of  Christmas  bells  left  and  right. 

The  wind  is  the  cry  of  the  children. 

For  you  and   I  now  to  hear ; 
To  bring  them  some  Christmas  token, 

To  bring  them  joy,  good  cheer. 
The  wind  can  only  sigh  it, 

And  3^ou  and  I  thus  divine. 
What  is  in  the  heart  of  greenness. 

What  hid  in  the  tall,  old  pine. 

There  are  ghosts  that  flit  in  the  weirdness, 

In  the  blackness,  all  around ; 
There  are  ghosts  that  people  the  shadows. 

When  night's  realms  all  have  bound. 

15 


The  friends  we  have  lost  forever, 
Or  out  of  our  hves,  long  years. 

We  meet  when  the  pine  tree  sigheth, 
With  a  sadness  too  deep  for  tears. 

Do  you  hear  the  pine  trees  sighing. 

They  sigh  for  lover  and  loved ; 
For  the  bridge  of  absence  moving, 

For  the  river  of  death  have  moved. 
Tn  the  wind  that  makes  them  echo, 

All  the  yearnings  of  some  heart. 
Ah !  they  sigh  for  lover  and  loved, 

For  those  wdiom  fate  keeps  apart. 

Do  you  hear  the  pine  trees  sighing? 

They  sigh  for  an  Eden  lost ; 
They  sigh  for  Earth's  sins  and  follies. 

Sigh  for  the  tears  of  the  angel-host. 
Tliey  wave,  they  wave  the  sad  story 

Of  Arcadia,  once  so  glad ; 
For  happy  homes  they're  waving. 

Ah !  this  makes  the  wind  so  sad. 

Tlie  pine  tree  lifts  arms  to  Heaven, 

Just  look,  how  it  meets  the  skies  : 
Like  Jacob's  ladder  rising. 

In  spite  of  its  long-drawn  sighs. 
All  life's  trials  are  but  emerald  roundings. 

Where  Angels  go  and  come. 
While  at  the  top  stands  the  Christ-man. 

To  tenderly  welcome  home. 

Oh  the  pine  tree  is  the  emblem. 

Of  a  glad  new  year  to  you ; 
As  it  stretches  it's  green  arms  upward. 

Up  to  Heaven,  our  own  blue. 

i6 


Though  it  may  sigh  for  Earth's  sadness. 
And  for  coming  sorrow  moan ; 

Lost  hopes  will  in  Heaven  blossom, 
For  all  lack  on  earth  atone. 

Through  Spring  and  Summer,  Fall,  Winter, 

The  sweet  incense  of  the  tree ; 
Doth  rise,  doth  rise  to  Heaven, 

On  wings  of  the  air.  so   free. 
The  wind  through  the  pine  tree  beareth, 

A  balm  from  its  needles  green. 
As  prayer  helps  the  soul  to  carry, 

Its  burdens  in  peace  serene. 

Ah !  the  birds  that  flit  in  the  pine  tree. 

Sing  our  praises  to  God  above ; 
For  the  God  who  ever  ruleth. 

Is  ever  a  God  of  love. 
All  sorrow  has  its  meaning, 

Its   mystical   meaning  sweet ; 
As  the  wind  waves  its  green  of  banner. 

Though  oft  with  a  sigh  doth  greet. 


"THE   LITTLE   CHINA  BOY" 

He  smileth  in  my  trouble, 

My  little  angel-boy ; 
As  dear  as  though  quite  real, 

Though  he's  but  a  china  toy. 

He  smiles  upon  my  mantel. 
Through  dark  November  days ; 

All  through  the  day-time,  night-time. 
As  some  song  birds  do  praise. 

17 


He  smiles  upon  my  mantel, 
Boy,  wreathed  in  china  flowers ; 

Forget-me-nots,  the  bluest. 

And  pink,  too,  through  the  hours. 

The  hours  of  life  arc  brightened, 
By  toy  that  seems  so  real ; 

Good  fairy  in  its  evil, 
Of  heavenly  life,  ideal. 

He  stands  for  youth's  bright  blossoms, 

Just  like  a  budding  rose  ; 
Like  lily  of  pure  whiteness, 

As  time's  stream  downward  flows. 

No  mischief  gleams  from  blue  eyes. 
Ne'er  tangled  golden  hair ; 

My   china  boy,   the  fairest. 
Doth'  ever  bright  wreath  wear. 

A  little  vase  supports  him, 

He  holds  the  wreath,  pink,  blue, 

As  if  to  say,  "Be  loving," 
"Be  ever  kind  and  true." 

He  never  can  be  naughty, 
But  always  must  be  true ; 

Of  boy  and  angel  dream  we. 
Of  God's   dear   mansions   new. 

He  never  can  be  tempted, 

Can  never  break  a  heart ; 
He's  mine,  he's  mine  forever. 

Till  T  with  this  world  part. 

i8 


AH!    WHEN    IS    LOVE'S    BLOSSOM 
FAIREST? 

Ah  !  when   is  love's  blossom  fairest, 
When  it  blooms  afar  in  gold. 

Whitened  by  dews  of  morning. 
Lovely    in    spring's    first    mold. 

Ah!  when  is  love's  blossom  fairest, 
When  in  drawing  near  to  gaze, 

We  vow  to  win  and  wear  it, 
To  brighten  all  earth's  days? 

Ah !  when  is  love's  blossom  fairest. 

When  we  have  plucked  at  last. 
Dreaming  of  radiant  future, 

Because  of  a  sun-bright  past  ? 

Ah !  when  is  love's  blossom  fairest. 

Only  the  fond  heart  knows, 
From  whom,  death's  rude  hand  snatches, 

After  years  —  its  blooming  rose. 

Ah !  yes.  'tis  fairest  in  sorrow, 
When  the  earth-light  all  is  gone  : 

With  the  bloom  that  time  has  added. 
In   dew   of  Heaven's   morn. 


A    VALENTINE    IN    JUNE 

Sweetly  the  birds  sang  unto  me. 
Tlie  brooklet's  voice  was  too,  all  glee. 
The  robin  called,  "Cheeree.  Cheeree." 
It  was  the  sweet  June-time, 
When  all  things  seem  to  rhyme ! 

19 


The  roses  by  my  path  were  red, 
The  lilies  were  to  gold  hearts  wed. 
Pinks  crimson  all  my  foot-steps  led. 
It  was  the  sweet  June-time, 
When  joy-bells  with   all  chime! 

The  daisies  fringed  the  brooklet's  way. 
So  innocent  and  pure,  that  day. 
One  lilac-bough  of  merrie  May. 
It  was  the  sweet  June-time, 
When  all  things  seem  to  rhyme! 

I  passed  a  little  silver  stream 
Where  forget-me-nots  did  azure  gleam, 
This  seemed  indeed  a  happy  dream. 
It  was  the  sweet  June-time, 
When  joy-bells  with   all  chime! 

My  path  was  emerald  in  the  shade, 
With  gems  of  sun-beams  oft  inlaid. 
As  I  my  way  o'er  grasses  made. 
It  was  the  sweet  June-time, 
When  all  things  seem  to  rhyme! 

A  briar-rose  the  pinkest  known, 
In  mossy  nook ;  near  pine-tree  lone. 
Its  blushes  did  for  grief  atone. 

It  was  the  sweet  June-time, 

Was  ever  snow  or  rime? 

A  seat  for  two  in  this  fair  nook. 
The  blue  above  like  Faith's  true  book, 
For  valentine,  not  far  to  look. 
It  was  the  sweet  June-time, 
When  brooks  and  flowers  rhyme! 


.\  face  had  smiled  in  shade  and  sun, 
The  bees  I  heard  in  merry  hum. 
My  way  clovered  as  hours  run. 
It  was  the  sweet  June-time, 
When  brooks,  birds,  bees  all  rhyme ! 

A  bird  did  sing  so  blithesome,  here. 
The  dove  of  peace  was  brooding  near. 
My  valentine,  two  hearts  so  dear. 
It  was  the  sweet  June-time, 
When  skies  with  all  do  rhyme ! 

Roses  and  daisies  meant  all  joy, 

The  pinks  a  love,  without  alloy. 

Naught  could  indeed  this  bliss  destroy 

It  was  the  sweet  June-time, 

When  we  to  Heaven  climb ! 


APRIL  'S  CRYING  ALL  THE  TIME 

April 's  crying  all  the  time, 
'Cause,  her  stay  is  brief; 

She  can  only  bring  first  flowers, 
Scarce  can  see  green  leaf. 

April  's  crying  all  the  time, 

For  earth's  barren  ways. 
Now  and  then,  she  smiles,  'tis  true. 

Dreams  of  better  days. 

April  's  crying  all  the  time. 
But  her  tears  make  brook, 

Flow  and  sing  so  lively,  now. 
If  you  will,  but  look. 


April 's  crying  all  the  time, 
But  her  tears  mean  joy, 

Just  as  happVj  as  her  smiles. 
No  fears  need  annoy. 

April  "s  crying-  all  the  time, 

But  you  need  not  mind, 
For  each  month  nmst  have  its  cry. 

Its  sighs  borne  on  wind. 

April 's  crying  all  the  time, 

But,  'tis  partly  play, 
All  her  smiles  too,  just  in  fun. 

But,  'tis  April's  way ! 

THERE    IS   A   HAPPY    LAND 

There  is  a  happy  land. 

Where  naught  can  jar  or  fret. 
In  dreams  it  seems  so  fair, 

'Tis  undiscovered  yet ! 

There  is  a  happy  land. 

That  waits  all  pilgrims  here, 

We're  traveling  to  it  fast. 
In  sun,  or  shade  so  drear! 

There  is  a  happy  land. 
It  may  be  'bove  the  skies, 

Its  green  enchants  my  gaze. 
Its  blue  doth,  too,  surprise! 

There  is  a  happy  land. 

Where  none  may  sigh  or  weep. 
No  foe  can  enter  there, 

God,  angels  charge  do  keep! 


There  is  a  happy  land, 

'Tis  over  death's   dark   stream. 
Our  boats  will  soon  touch  shore, 

See  lights  of  city  gleam ! 


IX  THE  STREETS  OF  LAUGHING 
TOWN 

The  world  is  gay  and  fair. 

For  many  a  flower  blooms  there, 

Which  strollers  all  do  share, 

In  the  streets  of  laughing  town! 

There  is  no  night,  all   day. 
There  sun-beams  light  alway, 

While  work  seems  more  like  play, 
In  the  streets  of  laughing  town! 

All  Ijurdens  fall  to  earth. 

Plucking  the  blooms  of  mirth. 

Here  joy  has  daily  birth, 

In  the  streets  of  laughing  town ! 

Good  fellowship  they  know. 

Live  more  for  good,  than  show, 

Truth's  flowers  here  do  blow. 
In  the  streets  of  laughing  town ! 

Care's  skeleton  must  hide, 

If  you  here  long  abide. 
Shaking  from  side   to   side, 

In  the  streets  of  laughing  town ! 

23 


The  dwellers  all  grow  fat, 
Laughing  at  this  and  that, 

At  jokes  that  seem  so  pat, 

In  the  streets  of  laughing  town ! 

The  queerness  of  the  place, 
Comes  to  you,  face  to  face, 

Yet  for  trials,  added  grace. 

In  the  streets  of  laughing  town ! 


THE  GRAYNESS  OF  THE  DAY 

Not  time  for  star-light's  silver. 

While  sun  has  hid  away, 
We  miss  all  greenness,  blooming, 

O  grayness  of  the  day ! 

We  miss  the  joy  of  summer. 
The  gladness  of  the  spring, 

The  glory  of  the  Autumn, 
Winter  but  flakes  doth  bring! 

Just  so  in  life's  gray  winter. 
No  more,  the  hopes  of  years. 

Our  loves  so  many,  buried. 
We  look  at  graves  thro'  tears  ! 

But  through  our  tears,  bright  rainbows. 

Of  life  beyond  the  sod, 
No  grayness  there,  but  sunbeams, 

Beauty  of  Heaven,  God ! 


24 


'TIS  A  VERY  THOUGHTLESS  WORLD 

That  rules  the  gentle  with  a  rod, 
Content  to  let  some,  always  plod, 
Just  only  to  those  under  sod, 

'Tis  a  very  thoughtless  world. 

With  love,  joy  scarce  impearled ! 

That  laughs  with  those  who  laugh  to-day, 
Turns  too  with  frown  from  some  away, 
That  only  in  the  church  doth  pray, 

'Tis  a  very  thoughtless  world. 

With  love,  joy  scarce  impearled ! 

That  naught  can  sift  of  seeming  wrong. 
Treads  down  the  weak,  lifts  up  the  strong, 
Tliat  goes  with  thought  of  passing  throng, 

'Tis  a  very  thoughtless  world. 

With  love,  joy  scarce  impearled ! 

That  makes  politeness  not  the  rule, 
Only  the  form,  at  church,  or  school, 
No  more  at  home,  where  hands  are  full, 

'Tis  a  very  thoughtless  world. 

With  love,  joy  scarce  impearled ! 

Kindest  to  those  who  need  it  not, 
While  those  who  need,  are  oft  forgot, 
Helping  the  most,  lives  without  blot, 

'Tis  a  very  thoughtless  world. 

With  love,  joy  scarce  impearled ! 

That  scarce  can  put  itself  in  place, 

Of  some  one  else  to  right  road  trace, 

Doth  make  still  worse,  some  shame,  disgrace, 

'Tis  a  very  thoughtless  world, 

With  love,  joy  scarce  impearled! 

25 


Will  try  to  find  some  fault  with  you. 
When  all  your  aim  is  good  and  true. 
Will  make  out  clouds,  where  sky  is  blue ! 
'Tis  a  very  thoug^htless  world, 
With  love,  joy  scarce  impearled ! 

Will  see  naught  rich,  but  in  your  gold. 
Will  only  youth  to  goodness  mold, 
No  wisdom  find  in  growing  old, 
'Tis  a  very  thoughtless  world. 
With  love,  joy  scarce  impearled ! 

That  looks  to  people,  more  than  God, 
Doth  to  the  favored  one  e'er  nod, 
Says,  worst  of  all,  is  being  odd! 
'Tis  a  very  thoughtless  world. 
With  love,  joy  scarce  impearled ! 


A    RIFT    OF    BLUE 

A  rift  of  blue,  of  sky-land, 

A   bonny    azure   bit. 
That  minds  you  of  the  blue-bells. 

That  does  the  June-days  fit. 

A  rift  of  blue  beams  over, 
A  rift  of  blue  shades  stream. 

It  does  so  happy  make  you, 
Just  like  a  sunny  gleam ! 

A  rift  of  blue  with  sun-shine, 
A  rift  of  blue  o'er  snow. 

It  is  so  like  the  roses. 

Links  with  their  crimson  glow ! 

26 


A  rift  of  blue  to  help  one, 

Go  through  the  white,  gray  days, 

When  all  the  flowers  are  sleeping. 
No   more,   the   song-birds   praise ! 


AN   AUTUMN    FLOWER 

'Neath  changing  skies  of  ]:)lue  and  gray. 
Less  gold  of  sun  than  June  or  May, 
I  found  smiling  in  woodland  way. 
An  autumn  flower! 

Adding  a  charm   to  vale  and  hill, 
Making  all  green  seem  fairer  still. 
Here  blooming  at  its  own  sweet  will, 
An  autumn  flower! 

Kissed  by  the  breeze,  it  nods  farewell. 
For  leaves  and  grasses  in  the  dell. 
Prophet  of  winter,  breaks  fall's  spell. 
An  autumn  flower! 

Now  shadowed  in  the  stream  with  sky. 
Doth  almost  bring  the  summer  nigh. 
Nodding  mid  green  to  passers-by, 
An  autumn  flower! 

For  frost  to  blight,  this  blossom  born. 
To  withered  hang  some  autumn  morn, 
Of  loveliness,  so  quickly  shorn,    ■ 
An  autumn  flower! 


27 


THE    LIFE    OF    A    DAY 

Carol  of  bird  at  morn  and  eve, 
Another's  tear  that  makes  you  grieve, 
The  fancies  that  you  can  but  weave, 
Make  up  the  hfe  of  a  day ! 

The  flower  holding  up  its  bell, 
The  green  that  moves  in  near-by  dell. 
Good  news  that  some  one  hastes  to  tell. 
Make  up  the  life  of  a  day ! 

The  cloud  that  only  floats  from  view. 
The  smile  that  says,  your  friend  is  true, 
The  hours  sheathed  in  constant  blue, 
Make  up  the  life  of  a  day ! 

The  kind  word  you  have  waited  long, 
The  lines  so  sweet  of  poet's  song. 
Thoughts  of  your  youth  that  happy  throng, 
Make  up  the  life  of  a  day ! 

Some  burden  dropped,  or  may  be  brought. 
Some  moment  with  sad,  glad  fate  wrought, 
Ah !  so  much  in  its  fabric  wrought, 
Make  up  the  life  of  a  day ! 


AUTUMN'S   GOLD 

To  bring  again  the  happy  time, 

Our  bards  have  sung  in  verse  sublime. 

When  all,  all  did  with  goodness  rhyme, 

Now  Autumn  lights  her  gold, 

Here,  there  her  yellow  bold ! 

28 


But  vainly  thus  doth  Autumn  aim. 
For  soon  put  out  her  j^olden  flame. 
At  last,  but  bareness  for  her  fame, 
Can  no  more  light  her  gold, 
No  where  her  vellow  bold ! 


THE    MAPLE 

In  the  dew  and  sun-shine's  glitter. 

Silver  first,  then  gold, 
While  the  sky,  its  turquoise  blending. 

Doth  with  blueness  fold ! 
Stands  the  maple  in  its  greenness. 

In  the  days  of  spring 
Where  the  blue-birds  chant  their  first  notes. 

And  the  robins  sing. 

When  the  sky  is  bluer,  brighter, 

On  the  hills,  a  haze. 
In  the  summer  noon-tide's  golden. 

Making  shady  ways. 
Stands  the  maple,  still  in  green  robes. 

Like  a  mer-maid  fair. 
While  the  scent  of  clover,  roses, 

Sweetens  all  the  air. 

In  the  harvest-time,  the  autumn, 

The  green  robe  put  by, 
Stands  the  maple  orange,  scarlet. 

Rain-bowed  to  the  eye : 
Painted  in  wild  streak  of  fancy. 

By  some  woodland  fay. 
To  contrast  with  fall  skies  sombre. 

Cheer  the  darkest  day. 

29 


'Mid  the  ice  and  snow  of  winter, 

Sparkle  of  the  frost, 
Stands  the  maple  now  resplendent, 

In  a  white  robe  lost,  — 
Like  a  bride   in  sheeny  satin, 

While  the  slei£2:h-bells  rin.c^ 
All  her  joy  linked  with  the  glory. 

Which  the  seasons  bring"! 


SWEET    BYE    AND    BYE 

"Sweet  bye  and  bye,"  the  children  sing, 

And  dream  of  golden  street, 
Of  pearly  gate  and  jasper  way, 

Where  angel-faces  greet ! 

"Sweet  bye  and  bye,"  sing  maidens  fair. 

Of   orange-blossoms  think. 
Of  white- robing,  and  wedding  gay. 

Future,  with   joy   link. 

"Sweet  bye  and  bye,"  sing  lonely  ones. 
Whose  fire-sides  lack  love's  glow. 

For  vows  that  once  were  plighted  here. 
But  Heaven  will  union  know ! 

"Sweet  bye  and  bye,"  the  aged  sing. 

(For  earthly  visions  dim,) 
And  beckon  those,  who've  gone  before. 

This  seems  their  sweetest  hymn. 

"Sweet  bye  and  bye,"  the  brave  youth  sings, 

We  will  that  ladder  scale. 
We'll  mount  up  where  ambition  leads, 

We  cannot,  cannot  fail ! 

30 


"Sweet  bye  and  bye."  the  weary  sing, 

Of  rest  for  them,  in  store. 
When  all  life's  burdens  are  laid  by, 

They  reach  the  golden  shore. 

"Sweet  bye  and  bye,"  the  angels  sing, 
As  world  redeemed  they  see. 

Glad  reaping-time  when  gathered  in. 
In  mansions  fair,  we'll  be. 


THE    GOOD    AND    EVIL   SPRITES 

Some  sprites  stand  by  in  gold  and  white. 
And  say,  We'll  be  your  joy,  delight, 
If  you  will  harbor  us  to-night. 
Some  fancies  glad   for  thee ! 

While  others  come  in  dark,  dark  dress. 
And  say,  Do  now.  sad  lot  confess, 
That  God  has  failed  oft  you  to  bless, 
Thus,  evil  thoughts  for  thee ! 

So  pass  the  moments,  till  you  say, 
I'll  make  the  eve  as  fair  as  day, 
For  stars  do  shine  above  my  way, 
I'll  keep  the  good  sprites  near! 

When  vanish  evil,  all  the  brood. 
Are  soon  displaced  by  fancies  good. 
Xo  more  do  sad.  sad  thoughts  intrude. 
Xo  more  dark  forms  appear! 


31 


THE  BUTTERFLY  'MID  THE  ASTERS 

O  butterfly   'mid  asters  mauve, 

Thou  gleamest  like  the  sun, 
Or  jewel  lost  'mid  flow'rets  wild, 
Thy  golden  robe  doth  burn ! 

And  leaving  purple  discs  alone. 
Like  twilight  dream  ;  dost  soar. 

Above  the  world  to  maze  of  blue, 
Like  angel  seen  no  more! 


MAPLES  'ROUND  A  CLOVER-FIELD 

There  they  stand  guarding,  guarding, 

Like  tall  cadets  in  green, 
'Round  a  field  of  clovers  rosy, 

In  the  sun-beam's  sheen. 

There  they  stand  guarding,  guarding, 

All  the  golden  day 
Un-hero-like  in  the  morning. 

Shedding  tears   in   dewy   spray. 

There  they  stand  guarding,  guarding, 
Through  the  night-time  chill, 

Each  clover  a  red-cheeked  maiden. 
Their  bard,  the  whip-poor-will! 

There  they  stand  guarding,  guarding, 

Through  the  summer  days. 
Till  the  clover-maidens  fade  fast. 

The  birds  sing  farewell  lays. 

33 


There  they  stand  g-uarding,  guarding, 

Till  morn's  sky  is  red. 
No  rebel-hordes  e'er  coming, 

Yet  clovers  fading",  dead ! 


LITTLE  SHIPS   ARE   SAILING  OUT 

Little  ships  are  sailing  out. 

Whither  do  they  trend? 
Is  their  course  for  Heaven  straight, 

Pilot,  Jesus,  friend? 

Little  ships  are  sailing  out. 

O'er  them,  sky  of  blue, 
Winds  for  them  so  gently  blow. 

Waft  them  on  so  true ! 

Little  ships  are  sailing  out. 

Precious  cargo  bear, 
May  the  freight  be  all  for  God, 

This  for  them,  our  prayer! 

Little  ships  are  sailing  out, 

O,  life's  storms,  we  fear! 
And  we  dream  of  white  sails  spread. 

Often  with  a  tear! 

Little  ships  are  sailing  out. 
Though  we  first  touch  shore, 

May  they  anchor,  at  last,  safe. 
Where  storms  beat  no  more ! 


33 


THE  WILLOWS  BY  THE  STREAM 

With  graceful  droop,  fair  fringing  o'er, 
The  daisied  violeted  shore, 
Of  green,  what  can  we  ask  for  more, 
So  fresh  it  keeps,  tho'  near,  boughs  fade. 
Yet  bright  still  gleams  this  favored  glade, 
Of  willows  by  the  stream. 

They  bend,  as  though,  to  waters  kiss, 
And  not  a  bit  of  silver  miss. 
Dew-bright,  when  morning's  sky  red  is. 
And  laugh  the  rain-drops  floating  down, 
Each  too,  a  jewel  white  to  crown. 
The  willows  by  the  stream! 

And  pinkest  roses  for  them,  blush, 
Thro'  noon-tide's  gold,  in  evening's  hush, 
One,  of  the  summer  gifts,  this  bush, 
Brings  of  its  best,  as  watered  well. 
Still  brighter  makes  this  fair,  green  dell. 
Of  willows  by  the  stream ! 

The  birds  too  sing  their  sweetest,  here. 
Where  all  doth  fresh  and  fair  appear. 
So  long,  unchanging  garb,  they  wear, 
Un-noted  is  the  pine-tree's  moan, 
Each  songster  adding  gayer  tone. 
On  willows  by  the  stream! 

And  pictured  in  the  waves,  below. 
Each  bush,  each  tree,  each  flower  low, 
The  blue  skies  that  above  them  show. 
The  waters  sparkle  to  disclose, 
Each  new  day's  bloom,  in  emerald  rows, 
The  willows  by  the  stream! 

34 


THE    CALL    OF    CHANTICLEER 

With  first  faint  pink  of  dawn,  I  hear 
The  shrill,  shrill  notes  of  chanticleer. 
He  doth  his  clarion  now  blow 
When  morning-glories  colors  show. 
When  flowers  hold  bright  cups  of  dew, 
The  cock  proclaims  a  morning  new. 

"Up,  up,  ye  laggard,  swift  I  say, 
What  golden  hours  brings  the  day. 
What  you  can  do,  no  one  can  tell, 
Improve  the  passing  moments  well. 
Up,  up,  ye  laggard,"  shrill  and  clear, 
So  plainly  calls  the  chanticleer. 

"Up,  up,  the  sky  its  bluest,  soon, 

See  green  around,  of  hope,  the  boon, 

Up,  up,  to  vanquish  and  to  try, 

The  sun  speaks  triumph  in  the  sky. 

Up,  up,  sleep's  angels  all  have  fled. 

They  watch  no  more  to  night's  calm  wed." 

"Wake,  wake,  ye  sleepers,  do  and  dare. 
Rise,  help  this  world  to  burdens  share. 
The  daisies  springing  from  the  sod. 
Speak  of  youth,  innocence  and  God, 
The  roses  of  all  gladness,  joy, 
They  smile  for  every  one  —  each  boy." 

"All,  all  to  battle  with  the  world. 
The  flag  of  morn  so  gay  unfurled ; 
Each  golden  sunbeam  speaks  of  love. 
Care  of  our  Father  good  above. 
On,  on,  to  toil  and  then  to  rest. 
Till  clouds  of  pink  paint  fair  the  west." 

35 


I    THINK    OF    ROSES    AS    I    PASS 

I  think  of  roses,  as  I  pass, 
This  glowing  clover  field. 

The  pinky  bloom  so  very  like, 
It  sweetness  too  doth  yield. 

I  think  of  roses,  though  too  late, 
And  dream  of  fragrant  June  — 

Of  all  the  golden  sunlight  then. 
Of  cloudless  blue,  at  noon! 

I  think  of  roses  in  their  prime. 
Old-fashioned  pink  ones  here  — 

And  brier  rose,  I  picture  fond 
With  dew-drops  hanging  clear. 

In  time  of  noon,  I  sunsets  see, 

In  mass  of  clover  low. 
That  only  fade  in  twilight  gray, 

Grow  bright  in  eve's  star-glow! 

At  night-time,  echoes  glad  of  song, 

Float  as  in  serenade, 
In  memory,  the  night-in-gale. 

With  sweetness  too  doth  aid. 


FALLING    LEAVES 

Where  do  they  fall,  as  the  zephyrs  knock. 
At  the  maple's  door  of  gold, 

And  cut  in  twain,  the  crimson  threads, 
Each  sunlit  purple  fold. 

36 


They  fall  in  woodland  paths  to  rim, 
The   brown  logs,   mossy   grown. 

And  flit  like  tropic  birds,  on  stream, 
They  patch-work  every  stone. 

They  float  on  the  tide,  as  tiny  skiffs, 

Near  the  water-lily's  home, 
And  their  crimson  lanterns  gleam  on  the  trees, 

As  stars  in  eve's  gray  dome. 

And  they  rock  the  mer-maids  fair  to  sleep, 

In  their  cradle  of  rosy  gold, 
While  the  fall-winds  croon  a  lullaby. 

And  sing  of  the  maples  old. 

Where  do  they  fall,  but  on  mother-earth. 

To  mingle  in  dust,  their  veins, 
As  their  rustling  note  of  the  harvest  dies, 

In  the  beat  of  the  autumn  rains. 


IN    CHERRY-TIME 

In  cherry-time,  the  bee  hums  by. 

In  quest  of  honeyed  flower, 
And  then  the  world,  its  fairest  seems, 

A  green  and  leafy  bower! 

In  cherry-time,  the  roses  blush. 
In  a  long  and  fragrant  train. 

And  songs  so  full  of  summer  joy. 
Are  tinkled  by  the  rain. 

In  cherry-time,  the  skies  are  blue, 
'Neath  us  the  red-white  clover. 

Whose  paths  of  sweetness  wind  and  wind, 
The  hills  and  valleys  over. 

3%. 


In  cherry-time,  the  music,  too, 
Of  childhood's  laugh  is  blending. 

With  ruddy  filling  of  the  pails, 
Vacation-weeks,  thus  spending. 

In  cherry-time,  do  lovers  walk, 
For  this,  the  time  for  wooing. 

When  all  the  world  is  bright  with  bloom, 
Roses,  their  petals  strewing. 

In  cherry-time,  the  robins  dream, 
Is  changed  to  sweet  fulfilling. 

He  has  a  song,  too,  for  the  days, 
A  cherry-hymn  he's  trilling. 

In  cherry-time,  the  promise  kept, 
To  spring  made  by  the  summer, 

Red-fruited  boughs  in  place  of  white 
Blossoms  brings  the  new-comer! 

HOW^  SWEET  THE   ROBIN'S   SONG! 

'Neath  skies  of  summer  darkly  blue, 
To  harmony  of  nature,  true, 
With  morning's  light,  in  evening's  dew, 
How  sweet  the  robin's  song! 

Now  breathing  joy,  surcease  from  care, 
The  fair  rose-hue  that  life  may  wear. 
It  floateth  gaily  on  the  air, 
How  sweet  the  robin's  song! 

Like  old-time  melody  to  me, 
Of  human  voice,  the  red-breast's  glee ; 
As  'mid  the  green,  it  comes  from  tree, 
How  sweet  the  robin's  song! 

38 


Like  mother's  prayer,  or  last  word  said, 
Glad  tones  in  dream  of  sainted  dead, 
These  bird-notes  echo,  to  days  wed. 
How  sweet  the  robin's  song! 

Of  Heaven  speaking,  where  all  bright, 
No  shade,  no  storm,  no  gray-skyed  night, 
No  sorrows  sadden,  fears  affright. 
How  sweet  the  robin's  song! 


ABOVE  THE  SNOW 

Above  the  snow,  are  blue,  blue  skies, 
An  azure  tint,  like  gem  turquoise, 
As  if  with  summer,  to  surprise, 
Above  the  snow! 

Above  the  snow,  bright,  golden  beams, 
That  gaily  shine  o'er  crystal  gleams. 
Make  air  less  frosty,  fair  as  dreams, 
Above  the  snow ! 

Above  the  snow,  the  crimson  west, 
The  clouds,  a  way  of  roses  pressed, 
Sky  in  garment  of  ruby  dressed. 
Above  the  snow ! 


OUT    IN   THE    FIELDS 

Out  in  the  fields,  the  skies  are  blue. 
All  days  seem  bright  and  glad  and  new. 
Friends  like  the  birds  and  flowers  true! 
Out  in  the  fields! 

39 


Out  in  the  fields,  a  huge  bouquet, 
The  apple-trees  pink-white  to-day, 
As  sweet  as  roses  of  Cathay, 
Out  in  the  fields ! 

Out  in  the  fields,  hear  stories  sweet. 
Which  birds,  brook,  breeze  to  flowers  repeat, 
Find  velvet  paths,  too,  for  your  feet. 
Out  in  the  fields ! 

Out  in  the  fields,  blue  violets  low, 
Gem  first  green  ways  with  tiny  blow, 
Near  dandelions  yellow  show, 
Out  in  the  fields ! 

Out  in  the  fields,  the  grasses  part. 
So  near  each  clover's  purple  heart. 
To  sing  of  breeze,  its  tuneful  art. 
Out  in  the  fields ! 

Out  in  the  fields,  the  wild  birds  call. 
And  speckled  lilies  red  and  tall. 
Bloom  thro'  the  summer  days  till  fall, 
Out  in  the  fields ! 

Out  in  the  fields  are  cups  of  gold. 
The  butter-cups  both  bright  and  bold, 
And  daisies  fair  as  summers  old. 
Out  in  the  fields ! 

Out  in  the  fields,  the  asters  bloom. 
And  golden-rod  in  autumn's  gloom, 
Whilq  maple  makes  a  red-gold  room, 
Out  in  the  fields! 

40 


THRO'    THE    PINES 
(From  Maine  to  New  Brunswick,  'oo.) 

Thro'  a  way  of  sweetness, 
Balsam   winged   from   pine; 

Tliro'  a  way  of  greenness. 
Type  of  hope  Divine ; 

In  the  silent  forest, 

Make  for  prayer,  a  shrine. 

Piney  fronds  are  reaching, 

Up,  up  to  the  blue; 
Seeming  witness  bearing. 

To  the  good  and  true ; 
To  Eternal  summer, 

And   a   spring-time  new. 

Roses  'mid  the  greenness, 

Do  their  blushes  twine ; 
In  between  the  grasses, 

And  o'er  daisied  line. 
While  a  robin  cheeries, 

'Mid  the  ways  of  pine. 

LIFE'S    ROSES 

Some  I  plucked,  and  others  withered, 
On  the  blooming  tree  of  days ; 

All  were  sweet  and  pink  in  youth-time. 
Though  with  roses,  thorny  ways. 

Some  I  plucked,  and  others  withered. 
In  the  radiant  May  and  June, 

For  I  had  not  time  to  gather. 
All  before  life's  heated  noon. 

41 


And  because  of  wayward  fancy, 
E'er  discerning  fairer  flowers, 

In  a  vale  as  yet  untrodden, 

Looming  far,  life's  cashmere  bowers. 

Some  I  plucked,  and  others  withered, 
For  the  future,  mirage,  gay, 
Clouded  oft  the  present's  roses, 
And  their  pink  I  called  but  gray. 

Some  I  plucked,  and  others  withered, 
Sweetness,  pinkness  all  unsought, 
While  life's  way  still  strewn  with  roses. 
Blooming,  fading  —  and  for  naught. 


IT  WAS  THE  HAPPY  JUNE 

The  little  brook  laughed  out  in  glee. 
The  birds  did  sing  of  love  to  me, 
All  things  did  seem  so  glad  and  free. 
It  was  the  happy  June ! 

I  stepped  along  'mid  clovers  red. 
Some  daisies  white-fringed,  just  ahead. 
The  day  did  seem  to  joy  wed, 
It  was  the  happy  June ! 

I  plucked  some  roses  by  the  way. 
While  many  more  did  blush  so  gay. 
The  world  just  now  a  flowery  way. 
It  was  the  happy  June ! 

42 


The  sun-beams  smiled  with  wealth  of  gold, 
As  though  of  Heaven,  each  bright  beam  told, 
No  shade  did  linger,  as  of  old, 
It  was  the  happy  June ! 

The  birds  trilled  on  in  chorus  sweet, 
As  if  they  would  each  stranger  greet. 
While  blue  sky  seemed  the  hills  to  meet. 
It  was  the  happy  June! 

No  cloud  did  fleck  the  far-a-way. 
All  cheery  as  the  wild-bird's  lay. 
All  like  the  brooklet's  laugh  so  gay, 
It  was  the  happy  June ! 

The  green  trees  made  an  emerald  bower, 
With  warmth,  light,  bloom,  the  summer's  dower, 
It  was  indeed  a  favored  hour. 
For  was  it  not  the  June? 

At  last  a  little  shower  did  come. 
The  silvery  drops  of  Love  did  hum, 
The  thunder  seemed  but  a  big  drum, 
As  it  was  happy  June ! 

The  meadow-pinks  had  told  the  tale, 
As  breath  of  roses  thro'  the  vale. 
The  sigh  of  heart  borne  on  each  gale. 
For  was  it  not  the  June? 

Before  I  had  my  steps  all  trod, 
The  flowers  all,  grasses  did  nod, 
A  winged  cupid  did  flit  o'er  sod. 
For  was  it  not  the  June? 

43 


All,  all  had  been  to  me  love's  sigri, 
All  was  indeed  so  fair^  Divine, 
I  met  indeed  my  valentine. 

For  me  it  was  love's  June ! 

Ah !  too,  o'er  grasses  hand  in  hand. 
Each  clover  seemed  a  fairy  wand, 
As  they  with  pink,  our  way  now  spanned, 
Two  'neath  the  skies  of  June ! 

Yes,  two  sped  on  thro'  emerald  bowers, 
For  Cupid  danced  among  the  flowers. 
All  seemed  a  type  of  life's  bright  hours ! 
Life  and  love's  happy  June ! 

WHY    GOD    MADE    VIOLETS 

His  azure  sky,  he  made,  a  way, 
To  center  every  sun-bright  ray. 
Flag  of  faith's  blue  for  summer  day, 
And  yet  world  would  not  look. 
In  page  of  nature's  book. 

So,  in  the  wood,  he  thought,  to  hide, 
Faith's  flowers  blue  to  sky  allied, 
That  those  who  sought  both  far  and  wide, 
Might  find  His  violets, 
To  say,  "He  ne'er  forgets." 

ARCADIA 

There  is  a  land,  'tis  e'en  on  earth, 
Where  naught  but  joy  has  its  birth. 
All  things  are  taken  at  true  worth, 
'Tis  called  Arcadia! 

44  i 


There  is  a  land  where  naug-ht  can  die, 
No  roses  ever  withered  he. 
O,  happy  land,  for  which  we  sigh. 
That  waits,  Arcadia ! 

There  is  a  land  where  streams  e'er  flow, 
Where  birds  do  never  southward  go, 
A  land  where  none  can  sadness  know. 
Dear  loved  Arcadia ! 

There  is  a  land,  where  naught  can  blight, 
Where  each  one  metes  cut  justice,  right, 
A  land  indeed  of  sweetness,  light, 
Hoped  for  Arcadia ! 

There  is  a  land  where  all  is  gold, 
All  precious  is,  has  wealth  untold. 
All  marr}^  well,  and  none  grow  old, 
The  famed  Arcadia! 

The  land  where  all  are  good,  none  scorn, 
None  grow  unhappy,  none  forlorn, 
They  ne'er  know  night,  'tis  ever  morn. 
Best  land,  Arcadia ! 

There  is  a  land,  that's  ever  green. 
No  storms  do  come,  sky  blue,  serene. 
You  all  can  think,  the  land  I  mean. 
Blissful  Arcadia ! 

Tliere  is  a  land,  where  lovers  meet. 
Where  parents,  children  fondly  greet. 
Ne'er  found  on  earth,  above  fair,  sweet, 
There,  our  Arcadia ! 

45 


The  Beulah-land  where  God  doth  dwell, 
Of  all  its  brightness,  who  can  tell, 
An  Arcady  we'll  love  so  well, 
Our  dreamed  Arcadia ! 

Where  eye  can  never  dim  with  tear, 
Or  heart  grow  faint  with  doubt  or  fear ; 
But  symbols,  shadows  have  we  here, 
For  lost  Arcadia ! 

Unchanging  land,  where  youth  is  ours. 
Where  all  can  pluck  the  fairest  flowers, 
No  frost  of  time  —  yea,  Heaven's  bowers. 
Regained  Arcadia! 


BANNERS    OF   AUTUMN 

O  lovely  shades  of  Titian's  red, 
Here  with  the  green,  of  brightness,  thread, 
As  though  some  flower,  its  bloom  had  shed. 
On  other  leaf! 

Gold  mixed  with  crimson,  too,  we  find. 
Gay  banners  in  the  autumn  wind, 
With  foreign  flags  our  way  is  lined, 
Nations  in  grief! 

Stripped  of  their  colors,  all  returned. 
The  pennons  that  by  wayside  burned. 
Too  much  of  help,  they  may  have  spurned, 
Wave  neutral  browns ! 

We  sigh  for  autumn's  glory  lost, 
As  though  of  stars  a  sparkling  host. 
Upon  the  stream  it  may  be  tost, 
Or  late  bloom  crowns! 

46 


WINTER'S    SPARKLING   WHITENESS 

For  lack  of  sunbeams  golden, 
Flowers,  that  no  more  blow, 

For  ways  of  green,  now  barren. 
Atones  the  sparkling  snow. 

Though  fair  of  face,  like  lily. 

Or  like  some  pure  rose, 
Ever  its  rarest  beauty, 

Sparkle,  like  stream  that  flows. 

Whiteness,  that  comes  with  winter, 

All  foulness  covers  round, 
The  flakes,  all  tiny,  dainty. 

Diamonds,  the  brightest  found. 

Who  can  but  love  the  snow-time, 

The   blossoming   of   flake, 
That  makes  a  world  so  charming. 

Doth  song  of  sleigh-bells  wake ! 

Stars  floating  thro'  the  grayness, 
To  make  the  earth  like  sky. 

The  gems  that  clouds  do  scatter. 
Jewels  that  'neath  feet  lie! 

The  glory  of  the  winter. 

This  white  that  glitters  so 
Like  marble  and  like  silver, 

With  pearls,  our  frost  and  snow ! 

Rainbows  of  summer  hover 

About  our  winter  world, 
When  sunbeams  make  translucent, 

Banner  of  tints  imfurled ! 

47 


Close  into  fireside  pleasures 
The  little  flakes  that  come. 

And  bank  like  long'-lost  daisies 
The  palace  of  each  home! 

Like  shining  waves  of  water, 
Like  stars  and  flowers  and  green, 

With  all  life's  bustle,  worry, 
We  scarce  regard  their  sheen ! 

THE   LITTLE   BROOK   SINGS    ON 

With  mirthful  voice,  o'er  pebbles  gray, 
In  sunshine's  gold,  and  raindrop's  play. 
Thro'  hours  of  spring  and  summer's  day. 
The  little  brook  sings  on ! 

Though  asters  pale  and  fade  near  by. 
The  old  pine  in  the  breeze  doth  sigh, 
And  maple  leaves  in  pathway  lie, 
The  little  brook  sings  on ! 

A  song  of  summer,  tho'  'tis  fall, 
And  clouds  o'erhang  like  dark,  dark  pall, 
The  moss  that's  green,  like  spring-time,  all, 
The  little  brook  sings  on ! 

Bright  roses  no  more  shadowed  there, 
Or  violets,  with  faces  fair. 
But  golden-rod  in  its  glee  share. 
The  little  brook  sings  on ! 

With  wonted  dance  comes  down  the  hill. 
Only  the  frost  its  flow  can  still. 
It  laugheth  yet  with  joyous  will. 
The  little  brook  sings  on ! 

48 


Tho'  birds  in  turn  have  good  byes  said, 
Tho'  chill  days  have  for  silence  plead, 
To  making  happy  'tis  so  wed. 
The  little  brook  sings  on! 


GLIMPSE   OF  GREEN   AND   GOLD 

Each  day  a  glimpse  of  green  and  gold, 
As  sunbeams  play  with  shadows  bold, 
Among  the  trees,  so  fair,  and  old. 

Each  day  the  summer's  glory  waits. 
For  sun  has  opened  golden  gates, 
With  each  fair  thing  of  summer  mates. 

The  blue  doth  bend  to  kiss  the  trees, 
The  green  and  gold  doth  wave  in  breeze, 
Above  the  clovered,  daisied  leas. 

O  green  and  gold,  now  summer's  throne, 

You  are,  indeed,  my  very  own. 

For  God's  own  face  in  thee  is  shown. 

0  green  and  gold,  reveal  to  me. 
All  that  you  mean,  in  flowered  lea. 
Or  bending  sky  above  I  see. 

For,  green  and  gold,  you  come  so  near, 

1  have  not  room  for  sigh  or  tear, 
Nor  hearken  now  to  voice  of  fear. 

O  Summer's  sun  that  gilds  the  day, 
And  scatters  joy  about  my  way. 
An  emblem  thou  to  Whom  we  pray. 

49 


KEEP    ON    SMILING 

Keep  on  smiling,  long  as  sun-beams 
Fall  to  earth,  make  way  of  gold; 

Long  as  flowers  hold  up  bright  cups 
'Mid  the  meadows  grasses  bold ! 

Keep  on  smiling,  long  as  blue  sky 
'Bove  each  hill  and  vale  doth  gleam ; 

Meets  the  green  trees  as  they  look  up ; 
Is  reflected  in  the  stream. 

Keep  on  smiling,  long  as  song-birds 
Come  in  June,  with  all  their  glee; 

Long  as  roses  blush  from  door-way. 
To  the  winds  give  fragrance  free. 

Keep  on  smiling,  for  this  old  world 
Will  be  righted  after  a  while ; 

All  things  link  with  nature's  brightness, 
All  still  fairer  than  her  smile! 


TWILIGHT 

Like  some  Quaker  maiden. 
Doth  the  twilight  come, 

Qad  in  gray-like  silver 
From  the  sky,  her  home. 

Pensive,  quiet  waiteth, 
By  the  dreamer's  side, 

But  an  hour  she  bideth, 
Can  no  longer  bide. 

50 


Shadows  thicken,  blacken, 
So  she  doth  haste  by. 

She  would  willing-  linger. 
With  the  hosts  in  sky. 

With  her  first,  glad  coming, 
She  a  star  did  place, 

All  in  friendly  converse, 
Meeting  face  to  face. 

Star  for  past's  bright  glory. 
Star  for  present  light. 

For  a  future  gleaming. 
The  first  star  of  night. 


THE    GREEN    OLD    PINE 

Now  waving  'neath  the  blue  sky, 
Now  waving  'neath  the  gray ; 

The  green  old  pine  stands  fairest, 
Of  all  the  trees  to-day ! 

The  green  old  pine  where  wild  birds 
Sing  songs  of  summer,  sweet, 

The  green  old  pine  where  snowflakes 
Bare  boughs  of  winter  greet. 

The  green  old  pine  where  snowflakes 
Wrap  all  things  in  their  white ; 

The  green  old  pine  stands  fair,  now, 
In  sun,  cloud  or  moonlight. 

The  green  old  pine,  an  emblem 
Of  hope,  eternal  spring, 

51 


The  tree  that  knows  no  winter, 
Still  doth  its  emerald  bring! 

The  gfreen  old  pine,  a  banner 

To  wave  in  storm  or  sun. 
To  say,  "No  day  is  ended, 

The  years  have  just  begun. " 

JUNE, 

AH!   WHO   WILL   FAIL  TO    WELCOME 

HER 

Ah !  who  will  fail  to  welcome  her, 
A  flower-maid  from  far  Cashmere, 
And  singing  as  she  trips  along, 
With  birds  to  join  in  sweetest  song. 
And  scat'ring  sunbeams  as  she  goes. 
So  many  smiles  with  one  bright  rose. 
O  fair,  bloom-laden  June! 

Ah !  who  will  fail  to  welcome  her  ? 
Whoever  does  will  sadly  err ; 
For  skies  grow  bluer  overhead 
Because  she's  passing,  and  her  tread 
Brings  emerald  grasses  o'er  and  o'er ; 
As  bright  she  is,  as  days  of  yore, 
O  merry,  happy  June ! 

Ah !  who  will  fail  to  welcome  her. 
The  air  with  kisses  all  astir, 
Pledges  of  love,  the   fragrance  sweet. 
With  each  bright  rose  she  drops  at  feet. 
And  all  her  joy  the  rain-bells  chant. 
Who  knoweth  June,  cannot  know  want. 
O  fragrant,  gifted  June ! 

52 


Ah!  who  will  fail  to  welcome  her, 
Is  never  loved  or  lover ; 
E'en  saddened  ones  oft  joyful  greet, 
And  take  her  roses  as  they  meet. 
Exchanging  burdens  with  her  flowers 
Find  Heaven  new  amid  her  bowers, 
O  kind,  joy-bringing  June ! 


FORGET  THE  JOY  THAT  ONCE  WAS 
YOURS 

Forget  the  joy  that  once  was  yours. 
When  time  did  on  you  smile, 

When  happiness  would  clasp  your  hand. 
Nor  let  you  go  the  while. 

Forget  the  goddess  love  who  becked, 
And  held  a  thousand  flowers. 

To  wreathe  you  for  the  days  to  come. 
Fair  make  for  future  hours. 

Forget  the  fairies  that  did  come, 
With  some  new  fortune,  then. 

As  though  good-luck  had  been  but  hid, 
In  woodland  cave   or  glen. 

Forget  the  joys  that  said  "good  morn," 
"Good  day"  and  glad  "new  year," 

As  though  no  cloud  could  darken  sun. 
And  naught  could  bring  a  tear. 

Forget  it  all,  yes,  love's  bright  wreath. 
And  all  life's  dearest  charms. 

Forget  it  in  the  Christ  who  calls, 
To  you  with  welcoming  arms. 

53 


THE    BRIERS 

No  matter  friend,  how  bright  the  way, 
Fountains  may  e'er  in  sunlight  play. 
Skies  smile  on  you  of  June  or  May, 
Yet  you  must  find  the  briers ! 

You  may  have  loving  friends  with  you, 
Who  promise  to  be  ever  true, 
Yet  trudging  on  'neath  skies  of  blue. 
You'll  surely  find  the  briers ! 

You  may  have  gifts  at  every  hand. 
As  though  it  was  your  father  land. 
E'en  singing  by  an  angel  band. 
And  yet  you  must  find  briers! 

Though  flowers  nod  to  you  and  smile, 
At  morn,  at  noon,  at  eve,  the  while, 
Thro'  all  your  years  they  do  beguile, 
Still  with  them,  you  find  briers! 

From  earth  to  Heaven,  no  way,  my  friend, 
That  you  or  others  seek  to  wend. 
But  what  you'll  find  hath  thorny  trend, 
You  cannot  miss  the  briers! 


AH!   WHERE    IS    FANCY    NOW? 

One  walked  with  me,  like  angel-child, 
So  sweet  and  lovely,  though  oft  wild, 
Yet  age  has  far  my  friend  beguiled  — 
I  scarce  do  know  her  now! 

54 


One  supped  with  me,  both  early,  late. 
At  every  shrine,  too,  seemed  to  wait. 
But  ah !  alas  for  human  fate, 
I  scarce  do  meet  her  now ! 

One  whispered  of  the  fairest  things. 
Of  the  green  wood,  of  summers,  springs. 
Of  beauty  that  to  earth  e'er  clings. 
Though  almost  silent  now! 

One  said,  "That  youth  was  strong  and  bold. 
And  empire  over  all  would  hold, 
He  could,  this  world  to  wishes  mould," 
That  voice,  submissive  now ! 

One  reared  some  castles,  most  divine, 
One  sang  to  me  in  metred  line. 
One  quaffed  with  me,  life's  reddest  wine. 
Ah!  where  is  fancy  now? 

One  walks  apart,  as  though  no  friend, 
Doth  rarely  nature's  voice  now  blend, 
With  other  tones  that  life  doth  lend, 
Scarce  heard  is  fancy  now! 

THE   GOLDEN   MONTH 

Which  is  the  golden  month  of  year? 

Is  it  the  happy  June, 
When  all  the  way  is  red  with  rose, 

Birds  sing  in  glad  attune? 

Or  is  it  when  the  Christmas  lights 

Shed  gold  upon  our  way. 
The  angel-songs  are  heard  on  earth. 

As  on  the  natal  day? 

55 


It  may  be  when  the  new  year  breaks, 

With  gold  and  rose  of  sky, 
Each  one  some  resolutions  pens, 

For  better  life  doth  sigh. 

Each  month  is  golden  in  its  way. 

But  one  doth  drop  its  gold, 
When  wind  doth  sing  through  leafy  trees, 

It  is  October  bold ! 

Who  offers  brightness  to  each  one, 

A  gay  leaf  where  the  brook 
Doth  bubble  on  its  way  with  joy, 

Or  in  some  clover  nook. 

Doth  make  a  palace  of  the  wood,  — 
All   fringed   with   golden-rod. 

The  curtains  that  it  hangs  about, 
Where  purple  asters  nod. 

And  daisies  keep  their  white  watch  still, 

Just  looking  up  to  sky, 
To  thank  the  Lord  for  fall's  glad  smile. 

For  all  this  glory  nigh. 


THE   FROSTED   BOUGHS 

Not  green  with  spring-time's  promise. 
Not  orchards'  blossomed  trees, 

Or  red  and  gold  of  autumn, 
Which  burdens  favored  breeze, 
But  frosted  boughs ! 

56 


Like  dripping  mosses  cling  they, 
The  fine,  white  threads  in  air, 

In  sun-glow,  silvery,  sparkle. 
The  robes  of  winter  wear,  — 
The  frosted  boughs  1 

Pureness  of  snow  revealing. 
Without  her  crystals  here, 

No  stars  but  in  the  grayness. 
That  hangeth  curtain  drear. 
O'er  frosted  boughs ! 


IN  MARCH  BELLS  RING  FOR  SPRING 

In  March,  bells  ring  for  Spring, 
Although  they  ring  so  low. 
That  you  can  scarcely  hear  them, 
For  muffled  by  the  snow, 
That  sparkles  yet  in  wood. 

In  March,  bells  ring  for  Spring, 
Though  lost  in  wind's  hoarse  tones. 
You  cannot  hear  their  gladness, 
Yet,  robin's  note  atones. 
His  ever  "cheery"  mood. 

In  March,  bells  ring  for  Spring, 
Ring,  too,  for  summer's  hour. 
Above  the  buds  expanding. 
Above  the  first,  frail  flower, 
March  bells  ring  merry,  chime! 

57 


In  March,  the  sweetest  bells, 
If  we  could  list  their  joy, 
Instead  down  chimneys  roar, 
The  winds  that  so  annoy. 
And  bring  back  winter's  clime. 


THE   WEATHER 

Is  it  warm  or  is  it  cold, 
Is  there  blue  and  sunshine's  gold, 
Gray  of  sky  with  gray  of  wold  ? 
It  all  depends  on  weather. 

Do  you  meet  a  smile  or  frown, 
Find  the  trees  all  green  or  brown, 
Is  it  dull  or  gay  in  town? 
It  all  depends  on  weather. 

What  you  wear  and  what  you  eat, 
Whom  you  welcome,  fail  to  meet, 
Whether  quick  or  lagging  feet. 
All  depends  on  weather. 

Doth  it  rain  or  doth  it  snow, 
Doth  it  hail,  do  March  winds  blow, 
It  has  often  been  just  so, 
It  all  depends  on  weather! 

Winter  scarce  can  drop  a  rose, 
Summer  rarely  has  her  snows. 
With  each  season  fancy  goes. 
Not  all  depends  on  weather! 

58 


JANUARY 

Fern  and  rose  on  every  pane, 
Hemlock  wood  and  country  lane, 
Jack  Frost  to  be  artist,  fain, 

In  January! 

Welcome,  New  Year,  tho'  winds  chill. 
Sway  the  leafless  boughs  on  hill. 
Frost  and  snow  both  have  their  will, 
In  January! 

Crystal  pond,  and  white  path  by, 
Sparkle,  pureness,  ever  nigh. 
Earth  and  isle,  snowbound  to  eye, 
In  January! 

Merry  ring  of  bells  o'er  snow. 
Thro'  the  day  and  eve's  star-glow, 
City  lights,  so  brightly  show. 

In  January! 

Gray  of  sky  and  barren  tree, 
Not  a  bloom  upon  the  lea. 
Still  the  sparrows,  children's  glee. 
In  January! 


THE    DAYS 

Above  the  evening's  starry  skies, 

Translucent  blue  of  noon, 
The  pink  that  makes  the  morning  fair, 

Are  gathered  there,  a  boon ; 

59 


The  days  of  years  to  mortals  given. 

In  bright  and  dark  array, 
From  New  Year's  with  its  bare  ti*ees,  snow, 

To  last  December  day. 

And  one  by  one  they're  sent  to  earth, 

With  heaven's  light  of  gold, 
God's  seal,  as  seasons  four  swift  bring 

The  morns  to  us  unrolled. 
From  spring-time's  green  to  autumn's  brown, 

And  winter's  chill,  gray  days. 
The  angels  sing  at  each  day's  birth. 

And  echo,  too,  the  praise. 

The  earthward  days  —  but  heaven-born, 

Each  cometh  with  a  smile, 
With  blessings  white  if  we  improve, 

For  good  are  sent  —  the  while, 
When  done  with  earth,  do  upward  go. 

Each  to  its  tale  told  o'er, 
There,  added  to  the  Book  of  Years, 

Of  all  days  gone  before. 

And  bright  and  dark  the  days  there  stay, 

Those  lived  on  earth  with  new ; 
The  rose  of  time,  the  badge  they  wear, 

Once  white  with  heaven's  dew; 
But  fresher  sparkle  days  unsent, 

In  veil  of  silv'ry  mist, 
As  gaze  we  thro'  the  portals  fair, 

Jasper  and  amethyst. 

They  ask  of  us  a  whiter  page, 

When  they  have  left  that  band, 
A  nearer  living  to  the  Christ, 

In  sight  of  Beulah  land; 


An  added  g"lory  ask  these  days, 

We  have  not  lived  as  yet, 
Now  gleaming-  thro'  the  rainbow  walls, 

Red,  vellow,  violet. 


I   CAME   FROM   EDEN'S    GARDEN 
Winter 

I  came  from  Eden's  garden. 

Where  tempter  with  smooth  phrase, 
Deceived  the  lovely  wom.an, 

Made  walk  in  sin's  dark  ways. 
Our  first  parents,  so  truly. 

Did  take  from  them  all  good, 
Only  as  God  forgiving. 

Did  die  on  Holy  Rood. 

I  came  from  Eden's  garden. 

When  first  dropped  roses  fair; 
The  flowers  in  their  season. 

All  life  was  wanting  there 
Only  as  Christ  supplied  it. 

Did  water  all  the  plain, 
One  more  made  hills  their  greenest, 

Made  blue  skies  come  again. 

I  am  a  breath  from  Eden. 

First  gray  days  came  there,  chill. 
The  rivers  lost  their  silver, 

The  snow  made  white,  each  hill. 
The  trees  bereft  of  greenness. 

Only  one  flower  did  bloom. 
The  snow-drop  'mid  the  bleakness. 

Promise  o'er  winter's  tomb. 

6i 


I  tarry  till  bright  Heaven, 

Comes  down  to  bless  the  world 
Now  war  'twixt  men  and  angels, 

Then  flag  of  peace  unfurled, 
I  tarry  with  my  darkness. 

Till  resurrection  day, 
Then  bluest  sky  with  sunlight, 

Now  ev'ry  flower,  I  slay. 


I    WALKED    IN    THORNY   WAYS 

I  walked  in  thorny  ways  alone, 

The  briers  hurt  my  feet, 
And  roses  seemed  to  blush  in  scorn. 

When  they  did  brightly  greet. 

Their  sweetness  too  did  pass  me  by. 
For  others  plucked  the  flowers. 

The  birds  too  sung  for  other  hearts, 
Though  green  their  native  bowers. 

I  said,  "Why  do  I  miss  all  this. 

Is  it  because  alone  ? 
If  some  one  tripped  along  with  me, 

It  would  for  loss  atone. 

"And  would  I  not  have  roses  all, 

Flowers  of  joy,  each  one, 
Would  not  the  world  seem  blent  with  blue, 

With  gold  of  each  day's  sun?" 

I  reasoned  thus,  and  tempted  fate, 

My  true  love  came  to  me. 
Two  walked  the  thorny  way  of  life. 

Fulfilled  my  destiny! 

62 


But  oh !  the  thorns  more  sorely  pressed, 

My  roses  withered  fast ; 
The  way  more  thickly  strewn  with  briers, 

For  two,  than  in  my  past. 

I  had  not  gathered  blooms  at  will, 

I  lacked  the  grace  of  heart, 
To  only  mind  the  pleasant  things. 

Knew"  not  the  living  art. 

The  briers  and  thorns  more  sorely  wound, 

The  restless  one  and  sad ; 
Just  think  they  stand  for  roses  all, 

And  so  be  ever  elad. 


IN    HER   WATER-PROOF 

In  gossamer,  she  trips  along. 
One  of  the  city's  motley  throng, 
Now  beating  time  to  rain  drops'  song, 
In  her  water-proof! 

Just  like  a  cloud,  she  floateth  on. 
In  blue  or  gray  or  black,  while  sun 
Doth  no  more  shine,  the  sky  doth  shun 
In  her  water-proof! 

She  doth  not  mind  the  storm,  not  she, 
This  rosy  maiden  in  her  glee. 
Sees  jewels  sparkHng  from  each  tree, 
In  her  water-proof! 

63 


She's  bright  as  any  April  flower, 
The  rain  is  but  a  silv'ry  dower, 
And  all  the  world  is  one  fair  bower, 
In  her  water-proof! 

She  dreameth  of  to-morrow's  rose. 
For  beauty,  bloom  from  each  drop  flows, 
To  maiden  brave  who  onward  goes. 
In  her  water-proof! 

She  thinks  of  ships  that  sail  away, 
For  winds  and  waters  seem  to  play. 
She  calleth  this  a  gala  day. 
In  her  water-proof! 

She's  happy  when  the  sun  comes  out, 
Dispersing  clouds  of  grey  en  route, 
Doth  o'er  bright  tints  of  rainbow  shout. 
In  her  water-proof! 

I  LOVE  THE  BRIGHT  JUNE  DAYS 

I  love  the  bright  June  days. 

These  days  of  green  and  song. 
When  all  my  world  is  fair. 

They  cannot  be  too  long. 

I  love  the  bright  June  days, 
When  roses  blush  by  way, 

So  red  and  sweet  for  me. 
They  cannot  be  too  gay. 

I  love  the  bright  June  days, 
When  pinks  so  dainty  greet, 

Too  many  never  bloom, 
They  cannot  be  too  sweet. 

64 


I  love  the  bright  June  days, 

When  all  is  spanned  with  blue; 

Who  ever  tires  of  it, 
Of  bounding  azure  view ! 

I  love  the  bright  June  days, 
Sing  on  your  notes,  O  brook, 

Laugh  merrily  and  dance. 
Be  silver  where  I  look. 

I  love  the  bright  June  days. 
Each  sunbeam's  radiant  gold, 

That  vies  with  bird  and  flower, 
To  earth  in  glory  fold., 

I  love  the  bright  June  days, 
Which  do  step  out  from  skies. 

To  show  the  Eden  lost. 
Our  waiting  paradise. 

TAUNT  NOT  THE  OLD 

Taunt  not  the  old  with  being  old,  — 
With  bright  years,  they  have  lost 

Youth's  halo  that  has  gone  with  time, 
Passed  with  the  years,  a  host ! 

Taunt  not  the  old  with  being  old,  — 

But  hallow  all  their  way, 
With  kind  remembrance  of  the  good 

They  have  done  in  their  day! 

Taunt  not  the  old  with  being  old, 
Because  each  soul  lives  on 

Upon  the  other,  brighter  side 

When  they  their  crowns  have  won  ! 

65 


Taunt  not  the  old  with  being  old ; 

Instead,  do  much  revere 
For  all  the  years  they  have  lived  well, 

Through  many  a  smile  and  tear! 

Taunt  not  the  old  for  being  old ; 

They  have  made  for  us  our  world, 
For  our  homes  made  the  peace  and  joj 

The  flag  of  hope,  unfurled ! 

Taunt  not  the  old  with  being  old,  — 
Their  past,  our  present  made  ; 

We  are  rewarded  for  their  toil. 
By  part  that  each  have  played ! 

Taunt  not  the  old  with  being  old,  — 
Some  still  know  fair,  sweet  dreams, 

While  life  may  bring  its  best  to  them, 
And,  nearer,  Heaven  gleams  ! 


APRIL 

April,  blue-eyed,  smiling. 

And  with  golden  hair ; 
Now  her  charms  all  hidden 

By  her  sullen  air; 
Veil  of  anger  clouding 

Her  bright  youthful  face, 
Ringlets  too  displacing  — 

Thus  with  moods  she  plays. 

One  moment  an  angel. 

Next  an  evil  sprite ; 
Now  she  helps  to  cheer  us. 

Now  with  scowls  to  fright. 

66 


Making  all  her  friends  foes, 
As  she  smiles  on  each, 

And  with  frown  quick  follows  — 
Thus  doth  practice,  preach. 

Bringing  hope  of  summer 

By  her  smiles   so  free, 
Spring's  fair  daughter  trips  on 

Sobs  alternately. 
Oft  showers  with  tear-drops. 

In  her  sudden  grief. 
Till  we  scold  a  little. 

Glad  her  stay  is   brief. 

Fail  we  to  believe 

Her  sorrow  is  true. 
Or  her  joy  real,  though 

She  makes  much  ado. 
Fickle,  fickle  April ! 

Yet  a  fairy  good. 
Making  ways  now  greener, 

Spite  of  changing  mood ; 

By  her  wand,  too,  pinker 

May-flowers  in  the  glade, 
Violets  dyed  azure 

In  the  deep  wood's  shade. 
Whitening  fast  the  orchards. 

On  each  tree  a  wreath  ; 
Setting  daisies  white-gold 

In  the  velvet  'neath  : 

Calling  back  the  wild-birds. 
With  their  warble  sweet ; 

Melting  fast  the  brook's  ice. 
That  its  laugh  may  greet. 

67 


Envy  we  her  mission, 

If  we  only  could 
J\lake  the  world  too  brighter. 

Though  misunderstood. 


NATURE  WEARS  GOLDEN'  SMILES 

Nature  wears  golden  smiles,  — 
See,  sun-shine  o'er  bare  ways ; 

Though  lost  the  green  of  spring, 
A  glimpse  of  Junes  and  Mays. 

Nature  wears  golden  smiles,  — 
Bright  thoughts  of  joy  and  home 

Come  with  her  sunny  gleam, 

Though  you  through  dead  leaves  roam. 

Nature  wears  golden  smiles,  — 

A  dream  of  gold  with  gray, 
Lights  that  with  shadows  strive. 

Almost  like  April  play. 

Nature  wears  golden  smiles,  — 

Though  many  flowers  sleep, 
Their  fairness,  sweetness,  still 

In  mind,  these  beams  do  keep. 

Nature  wears  golden  smiles,  — 

For  link  the  seasons  all. 
Though  leaves  must  in  time  fade, 

And  songsters  no  more  call. 

Nature  wears  golden  smiles,  — 

It  is  her  harvest  time. 
Though  some  days  are  so  drear, 

Rain-bells  do  merry  chime ! 

68 


Nature  wears  g-olden  smiles,  — 
In  stream,  some  rift  of  blue 

Does  bring  us  content,  now, 
Always,  our  God  is  true. 


THE  PEOPLE  YOU  MEET 

Some  people  seem  to  cavil, 
At  all  things  seem  to  sneer. 

Some  meet  you  rather  surly, 
While  some  you  can  but  fear. 

Some  ne'er  give  cheerful  greeting. 
Life  is  all  work,  not  play ; 

While  others  are  so  joyful, 
You'd  think  t'was  holiday. 

Some  are  so  very  genial, 

While  others  "cut  and  dried," 

Some  pass  you  very  humbly. 
And  some  are  puffed  with  pride. 

Some  pass  you.  Oh !  so  stately. 
You  grow  exceedingly  small ; 

You're  smallest  of  all  praties. 
They  are  so  very  tall. 

Some  have  keen  sense  of  humor, 
Are  brimming  o'er  with  fun ; 

The  children  and  the  youthful. 
Are  laughing,  every  one! 

Some  pass  you,  Oh  !  so  sadly. 
They've  drunk  of  sorrow's  cup ; 

Some  pass  you,  oh !  so  full  of  care. 
They  scarcely  can  look  up ! 

69 


Some  are  like  rose  in  beauty, 

Others  like  lily  pure ; 
Still  others  like  the  oak  tree. 

Strong-  to  life's  storms  endure. 

One  deprecates  the  meeting, 
You  wish  you  were  at  home ; 

Another  is  so  pleasant, 

You  would  a  mile  now  roam. 

Some  meet  with  look  of  hatred. 

It  may  be  near  church  dome, 
While  others  smile  on  you,  so  sweet. 

You  are  indeed  welcome! 

You  think  a  south  wind's  blowing, 
Some  are  so  courteous,  kind, 

While  others  pass  so  very  cold. 
You  say,  well,  never  mind ! 

Some  pass  you  very  stiffly. 
No  place  for  smiles  on  street. 

You're  only  one  of  many, 

They've  scarcely  time  to  greet. 

Some  pass  you  absent-minded, 
And  some  must  ever  stare. 

Some  seem  so  cruel-hearted, 
Ah.  no !  we  will  not  care. 

Some  e'er  atone  for  others. 

For  treacherous  foe,  dear  friend  : 

As  you  must  walk  your  life  path. 
Oft  must  it  lonely  wend. 

70 


For  some  ne'er  fail  to  see  you, 
Though  stormy  may  be  day ; 

It  is  the  friendly  greetings, 
That  help  us  on  life's  way. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CISTERCIAN  MONKS 

"Ave  Maria,"  said  the  monk, 

All  he  knew  of  pious  lore, 
"Ave  Maria"  day  by  day. 

For  he  could  repeat  no  more. 

Stupid  monk,  the  others  thought, 
But  ne'er  chid  him,  for  'twas  plain, 

Many  more  words,  he  would  say, 
(If  he  could  but  learn  them),  fain! 

"Ave  Maria"  when  he  died, 

From  his  grave,  a  lily  grew. 
Waved  a  blossom  of  pure  gold. 

For  the  monk  so  simple,  true. 

"Ave  Maria,"  on  ev'ry  leaf. 

Words  written  for  faith  and  love. 

Of  the  one  so  dull  of  mind, 

Yet  whose  soul  did  upward  move. 


LONELY  —  UNLOVED 

Lonely,  unloved,  what  tongue  or  pen, 
Can  bring  to  her,  her  youth  again. 
The  bow  of  promise  faded  quite, 
No  dream  of  orange  blooms  and  white. 

71 


"Life's  dream,"  we  say,  "A  thing  of  past, 
Life's  light,  so  sunny  could  not  last, 
She  dwells  in  gloom,  her  fault,"  we  say; 
"She  might  have  had  life's  perfect  day." 

Or  else  we  think,  "Poor  shrivelled  bud, 
That  ne'er  as  rose,  do  sun-beams  flood ; 
No  rains  and  dews  can  freshen  red. 
Unlovely  e'er,  for  she's  not  wed." 

Lonely,  unloved,  we  say  indeed. 
For  stricter  truth,  her  face  doth  plead, 
May  have  of  love,  the  larger  share. 
Though  knowing  not  wife's  children's  care. 

Still  flowers  may  in  her  path-way  bloom, 
May  brighten  life  on  way  to  tomb. 
She  will  for  others  roses  strew. 
Though  youth's  lilies  unfed  with  dew. 

Lonely,  unloved  'twas  Mar's  decree, 
That  she  should  never  wedded  be, 
Her  hero  went  and  fought  and  died, 
'Neath  red,  white,  blue,  a  nation's  pride. 

Lonely,  unloved,  still  larger  place, 
She  has  for  all,  for  love  must  grace 
A  woman's  lot,  a  woman's  aim, 
A  woman  still,  not  just  in  name. 

Lonely,  unloved,  heart  still  her  own, 
Those  who  know  not,  may  call  it  stone ; 
Sweet  fancies  still  must  bloom  as  flowers, 
A  maiden  still,  in  golden  hours. 

72 


Lover  returns  mid  twilig'ht  gloom, 
And  joy  makes  all  garlands  bloom, 
A  bride  in  white,  she  stands  with  him, 
And  stars  look  in  while  shadows  dim. 

Though  prejudice  may  whisper  ill, 
We'll  turn  away,  cling  to  it  still, 
No  woman's  heart  is  desert-land, 
But  by  the  mildest  zephyrs  fanned. 

Good  things  must  grow,  of  blossoms,  fruit, 
In  spite  of  old  maids'  bad  repute. 
For  woman  seems  so  near  to  Heaven, 
Some  moral  beauty  e'er  must  leaven. 

Lonely,  unloved,  yet  no  more  sigh, 
For  vision  broadens  if  faith's  sky, 
Duty  to  world  takes  sterner  voice. 
In  her  behests,  she  must  rejoice. 

Lonely,  unloved !  a  mission  kind, 
To  other  friendless  ones  may  find. 
Like  angel-helper  she  may  come, 
To  sweeten  life  and  heart  and  home. 

Lonely,  unloved,  but  loving  all. 
Her  Christ,  the  most,  whose  loving  call. 
Will  make  all  right,  at  last,  bright  sun 
Of  love  will  shine  for  every  one. 

Where  Cupid  can  play  pranks  no  more. 
All  hearts  as  one,  on  golden  shore, 
No  links  are  broken,  but  all  meet, 
As  angels  love  in  golden  street. 

73 


APRIL'S  BLUE  AND  GRAY 

Like  two  armies  eager 
E'er  to  win  the  fray. 
First  the  sun,  then  rain-drops 
April's  blue  and  gray. 

Who  will  gain  in  battle? 

Who  will  win  the  day? 
Blue  and  sunbeams,  think  you, 

Or  the  cloudings  gray? 

Both  will  win  in  conflict, 

Make  a  greener  way, 
Bring  spring  bloom,  yea,  summer 

Friendly  blue  and  gray. 


FLOWER-APHORISMS 

The  fairest  rose  is  a  human  flower, 

That  blooms  for  years  in  home's  sweet  bower. 

Youth's  pure,  white  lily  has  heart  of  gold, 
This  pureness,  love,  did  Heaven  infold ! 

The  pink  of  perfection,  carnation  flower. 
That  glows  so  bright  in  summer's  hour ! 

Gay  Balsams  dance  in  the  wind, 
So  time  to  dance  for  human-kind! 

O  Bachelor-buttons,  blue,  white,  pink 
With  lost  home-joys,  you  must  link! 

74 


Wave  poppy-flags  of  red,  and  white 
For  a  whole  summer's  delight ! 

O  Myrtle  fair  for  time  of  gloom, 
Blue  flower  of  faith  for  tomb! 

Ye  Apple-blooms  now  tempt  to  stray, 

Into  a  pleasant  pink-white  way, 

As  what  you  promised,  in  Eve's  day ! 

Glowing  like  autumn-leaves  so  bright 
In  reds  and  golds,  perfect  to  sight. 
All  blessings  brighten  as  they  pass. 
Flower-mirror,  for  time's  glass ! 

Blue  Violets  of  May 

Pave  sapphire  for  June's  way ! 

Fate's  flower,  the  Daffodil, 

Brings  gold  from  flower-till. 

And  calls  Persephone, 

But,  find  Anemone, 

Hope's  bloom,  and  hope  at  will! 

(For  last)    I  refer  reader  to  Jean  Ingelow's 
poem,  "Light  and  Shade." 


TIGER  LILIES 

Fair,  red  bells  that  never  ring, 
Only  as  the  wild  birds  sing. 
Songs  that  vibrant,  they  might  bring, 
Tiger  Lilies ! 

75 


Fair,  red  bells  that  never  speak, 
Only  as  glad,  zephyrs  seek, 
Place  to  whisper,  freckled  cheek. 
Tiger  Lilies ! 

Fair,  red  bells,  that  only  wave, 
In  the  wind,  and  jewelled  have, 
Silver  from  the  storms,  they  brave, 
Tiger  Lilies ! 

Fair,  red  bells  with  shades  of  gold. 
That  the  sun  gave,  that  thus  hold. 
New  beams  not  in  flower-mold, 
Tiger  Lilies ! 

Fair,  red  bells  that  gleam  for  all, 
Mid  wood-ferns  where  robins  call, 
Till  withered,  doth  amber  fall, 
Tiger  Lilies ! 

SUN-FLOWERS 

Discs  of  black  and  fringes  gold. 
High  'bove  all,  like  summers  old. 
Sun-flowers,  with  faces  bold, 
Yellow  sun-flowers ! 

By  some  holly-hocks  in  pink, 
With  the  red  and  white,  too  link. 
Just  like  little  suns,  we  think, 
Yellow  sun-flowers! 

Like  the  marigolds,  their  light, 
Golden  like  the  stars  of  night. 
Like  our  fancies  warm  and  bright, 
Yellow  sun-flowers! 

76 


To  a  golden  glory  bom, 
Sun-flowers  in  fields  of  corn, 
Without  them,  places  forlorn. 
Yellow  sun-flowers ! 

In  the  storm-wind  sweeping  low, 
To  the  asters  bend  and  bow, 
To  gay  balsams  in  a  row. 

Yellow  sun-flowers ! 

Humble  flowers  towering  high. 
Seeming  to  greet  turquoise  sky, 
To  be  sun-beams,  vainly  try, 
Yellow  sun-flowers! 

Yet,  each  honest  face,  we  love, 
For  dear  messengers,  they  prove. 
As  toward  sun,  they  daily  move, 
Yellow  sun-flowers ! 

Framing  clovers,  turning  brown. 
Daisies  white  with  thistle-down, 
Like  some  village  time-piece  crown. 
Yellow  sun-flowers ! 

Fringes  gold  in  breezes  wave, 
Rain-drops  o'er  them  sing  and  lave. 
With  the  leaves,  they  drop  in  grave, 
Yellow  sun-flowers! 


A  PINK- WHITE  GLORY  OF  CLOVER 

A  pink-white  glory  of  clover. 
Linking  with  summer's  light, 
A  patch-work  gay,  all  nectar. 
Makes  hills  and  valleys  bright. 

77 


A  pink-wliite  glory  of  clover, 
Comes  in  the  rose-set  June ; 
When  the  sky  above  is  bluest, 
The  world  with  joy  a-tune. 

A  pink-white  glory  of  clover. 
Out-lasting  summer  flowers ; 
The  roses,  blooming  and  fading, 
To  autumn's  chill,  dark  hours. 

A  pink-white  glory  of  clover, 
Going  only  with  the  leaves ; 
With  the  fall  of  the  maple's  crimson, 
The  binding  of  the  sheaves. 

WHITE  LILIES 

O  flowers  to  us  given. 
Revealing  blooms  of  Heaven, 
Pure,  sweet,  this  earth  to  leaven, 
White  lilies! 

Flowers  shaped  like  bells  that  ring. 
To  us,  the  glad  tidings  bring. 
Of  Christ  risen.  Lord  and  King, 
White  lilies! 

Fair  types  of  saintliness, 
We  do  your  coming  bless. 
In  vour  face,  sin  confess, 
White  lilies! 

We  would  find  the  angel  hid, 
'Neath  each  white  lily-lid, 
That  to  Christ-like  works  would  bid, 
White  lilies ! 

78 


We  would  touch  each  heart  of  gold, 
Held  so  bright,   in   white,  pure,   fold, 
Of  Christ's  love,  tell  story  old. 
White  lihes! 


THE  ROSES  OF  THE  YEAR 

They  bloom  in  June,  so  sweet  and  fair 
And  later,  too,  some,  fragrance  bear. 
But  autumn  scarce  a  rose  does  share. 
We  sigh  for  roses  gone ! 

With  all  lost  joys,  they'll  bloom  once  more, 
We'll  find  them,  touching  golden  shore, 
Roses  of  past,  we're  dreaming  o'er. 
So  sweet  for  Heaven's  morn! 

For  dead  leaves  only  cover  them. 
Their  memory  do  brightly  gem. 
Their  crimson,  seeming  June's  rose-gleam, 
While  neither  rose  nor  thorn ! 


THE  FRIENDLY  HOLLY-HOCKS 

Tall,  fair,  in  garden-nook. 
They  meet  with  friendly  look, 
The  comradeship  of  brook, 
O  crimson  holly-hocks ! 

Not  altogether  sad, 
Can  I  be  so  winsome,  glad. 
Their  faces  greet,  as  clad, 
In  pink,  my  holly-hocks ! 

79 


In  tint  of  sun,  I  find, 
A  path-way  with  them  lined. 
My  friends  that  nod  in  wind, 
Dear  yellow  holly-hocks ! 

While  prettiest  of  all, 
Mid  the  gay  tints  of  fall, 
See,  smiling  by  the  wall. 

In  white,  loved  holly-hocks! 


WHEN  FIELDS  SHOW  HARVEST  GOLD 

Come,  pluck  a  flower  amid  the  wheat, 
Come,  smell  this  last  rose,  'tis  so  sweet ; 
See,  blue  skies  smiling,  bend  to  greet. 
When  fields  show  harvest-gold! 

Come,  sing  a  song  'mid  barley  brown. 
The  reaper's  note  you  cannot  drown, 
The  rain-bells  too  are  clashing  down. 
When  fields  show  harvest-gold! 

Come,  brush  the  dew  from  aster  bright, 
The  golden-rod  the  path  doth  light; 
The  moon  doth  whiten  all  at  night, 
When  fields  show  harvest-gold ! 


SWEET  PEAS 

Though  many  a  lovely  tinted  bell. 
There's  scarce  a  flower  loved  so  well, 
Each  one  will  you  of  sweet  peas  tell, 
Their  dear,  sweet  peas !  their  fair  sweet  peas ! 

So 


So,  as  you  go,  see,  streaming  bright, 
The  famed  sweet  peas  in  pink  and  white, 
Their  pennons  waving  left  and  right. 
Dearest  sweet  peas  !  fairest  sweet  peas ! 

In  colors  like  the  flag,  these  flowers, 

Make  happy  world,  through  summer  hours. 

Adding  their  smile  to  greenest  bowers, 

Our  dear  sweet  peas !     Our  fair  sweet  peas ! 

The  pink  and  white  with  purples  come, 
Seem  types  indeed  of  joys  of  home. 
Of  hope  and  love  where'er  you  roam. 
The  very  dear  sweet  peas !    The  very  fair  sweet 
peas! 

Like  butter  flies,  you  say,  and  pass. 
Then  dream  of  rose-cheeked  country  lass, 
A  rain-bow,  they  through  time's  white  glass. 
Best  of  all  flowers  sweet  peas!     Sought  of  all 
blooms,  sweet  peas! 

WHITE  ROSES 

Like  angels  in  the  morning. 

When  the  sun's  first  rays  of  gold, 

Come  slanting  thro'  the  door-way. 
To  sing  God's  praises  bold, 

As  they  nod  to  us,  "good  day," 
Seem  white  roses! 

Like  children  in  the  nooning. 
When  the  day  is  farther  spent, 

And  they  peer  into  our  window. 
To  be  life's  joy's  lent 

Sweet  faces  now,  in  row, 
Seem  white  roses ! 

8i 


Like  phantoms  in  the  evening, 
When  the  wind  doth  tap  our  pane, 

And  back  and  forth  they're  swaying, 
While  falleth  fast,  the  rain. 

The  drops,  a  weird  tune,  playing. 
Seem  white  roses! 

WILD  FIELD  BUTTER-CUPS 

Now  sway  in  wind,  their  chalices, 

So  very  golden,  fair. 
And  silver  too,  by  right  of  dew. 

That  comes  with  morning  air. 
The  wild  field  butter-cups! 

Now  sway  in  wind,  their  chalices. 
We  think  of  sun-beams  cleft. 

Now  straying  here,  for  bright  and  clear. 
They're  waving  right  and  left. 
The  wild  field  butter-cups! 

Now  sway  in  wind,  their  chalices, 

Did  they  from  rainbow  fall. 
To  oflfer  gold,  in  flower-mold,* 
To  seekers  one  and  all  ? 

O  wild  field  butter-cups ! 

THE  RED  ROSE 

(The  Patriots'  Call) 

The  red  rose  gloweth  in  your  dreams, 

By  night  and  through  the  day. 
Where'er  you  go,  that  red  rose  smiles, 
With  all  a  flower's  lovely  wiles. 
Doth  call  you  to  the  fray ! 

*  Legend. 

82 


The  red  rose  gloweth,  as  a  prize, 

Shadowed  in  banner  fair, 
Of  stars  and  stripes  floating  above, 
Bright  emblem  of  a  patriot's  love, 

This  rose  doth  standard  bear! 

O  fair,  red  rose  that  calleth  on, 

To  deeds  of  bravery. 
Each  petal  is  a  hero's  life, 
That  helped  to  end  some  deadly  strife, 

O  flower  of  liberty ! 

The  red  rose  in  an  angel's  hand. 

Doth  claim  its  purity. 
Transformed  so  fast  by  lily  wand, 
For  truth  must  reign  in  free,  free  land, 

O  bond  of  charity! 

The  red  rose  calls  to  Holy  War, 

O  youth  of  patriot  fire. 
The  crusade  'gainst  injustice,  wrong, 
As  in  the  days  of  slavery  long, 

When  fought  so  well,  your  sire! 


DAISIES  IN  THE  RAIN 

Daisies  nodding  in  the  silver. 

Of  the  drops  that  fall, 
Swaying  in  the  wind  that  passes, 

To  the  robin's  call! 

Daisies  peering,  looking  upward, 

As  with  thankful  smile, 
For  the  rain  that  damps  their  gold-white, 

With  a  note  of  song,  the  while ! 

83 


Daisies  all,  the  j^ladness  seeking, 

Of  the  silver  making  din, 
Plash  of  drops,  that  tell  of  daisies, 

How  they  all  tlie  llowers  win ! 

Daisies  in  the  sullen  shadows. 
Of  the  storm  that's  quickly  over, 

Brushing  diamond  tears  from  fringes, 
On  to  rose  and  clover ! 


CROCUS,  PURPLE  AND  GOLDEN 

Crocus,  purple  and  golden, 

Crocus,  smiling  in  white, 
A  fringe  of  blossom-glory, 

That  makes  April  bright. 

Crocus,  yellow  and  purple, 
And  with  the  white  in  midst. 

Like   crystal  flakes   'mid  blossoms 
Of  spring's  gold,  amethyst. 


SCARLET  POPPIES 

Scarlet  poppies  flaming  bright. 
In  the  breeze  sway  left  and  right, 
When  dews  fall,  they  close  at  night. 
Scarlet  poppies! 

Scarlet  poppies  'mid  the  corn, 
Each  one  seems  a  reaper  born. 
As  fair  ladies  noon  and  morn, 
Scarlet  poppies ! 

84 


Scarlet  poppies  in  the  sun, 
Smiling,  nodding,  every  one, 
Silky  texture,  their  robes  spun, 
Scarlet  poppies ! 

Scarlet  poppies  in  the  rain, 
That  they're  spoiled  is  very  plain, 
Of  their  flower-robes  once  so  vain. 
Scarlet  poppies ! 

THE  BLUE  ELOWER  (HAPPINESS) 

I  have  roved  o'er  hill,  journeyed  thro'  plain, 
I  have  tried  each  valley  once  again, 
T  have  sought,  have  sought  far.  near,  in  vain. 
Eor  the  blue  Howcr ! 

I  have  asked  all  friends,  e'en  the  little  child. 
If  they  e'er  saw  it  growing  wild. 
They  said,  "We  wi.sh  for  it."  and  snnled, 
Eor  the  blue  flower ! 

I  have  been  on  this  quest  for  many  a  year, 
Eor  this  something  to  all  mortals  dear, 
Not  finding  have  shed  man}-  a  tear, 
Eor  the  blue  flower ! 

1   have   gazed   at  the   sky,   to  it  a  bride. 
Have  said,  'Tt  blooms  on  the  farther  side, 
Eor  no  place  is  there  in  this  world  wide, 
Eor  the  blue  flower !  " 

If  only  my  blue  violets  could  speak. 
Azure  lark-spur  of  this  bloom  unique. 
Could  tell  me  where  indeed  to  seek, 
Eor  the  blue  flower ! 

8S 


Could  I  but  find  it,  I  would  keep, 
Would  guard  it  well,  but  joy  reap; 
Not  finding-  it,  I  scarce  can  sleep, 
For  the  blue  flower ! 

'Tis  growing  by  your  very  door, 
Hope's  angel  says,  "I  do  implore, 
That  you  look  farther,  never  more," 
For  the  blue  flower ! 


MORNING-GLORIES 

They  clambered  up  my  lattice. 

Unfolding,  one  by  one  — 
The  pink-hued  at  the  dawning. 

With  the  blue  at  rise  of  sun ; 
And  white  so  pure  too  gleaming 

Mid  pointed  leaves  of  green  — 
All  in  a  shimmering  net-work, 

Of  dew  and  the  sunbeam's  sheen. 

They  clambered  up  my  lattice. 

Flowers  of  one  brief  morn  — 
Not  queenly  like  the  roses. 

But  yet  without  a  thorn ; 
N'ew  blossoms  in  beauty  opening, 

With  every  break  of  day ; 
In  response  to  the  sun's  glad  kisses, 

And  the  rain-drops  silvr'y  play. 

They  clambered  up  my  lattice, 
Like  the  dear  old  flag  their  hues ; 

When  the  birds  sung  morning  carols 
The  reds,  whites,  with  the  blues, 

86 


Sometimes  in  a  storm  their  petals, 

By  cruel  winds  were  frayed ; 
They  were  tattered  like  the  old  flag, 

Like  it  did  their  colors  fade. 

But  fresh  and  whole  at  the  dawning. 

New  banners  waving  fair 
Were  my  pretty  flower-trumpets  — 

Types  in  the  sunshine,  there, 
Of  the  love,  hope,  and  trust  up-springing 

In  each  patriot  heart  anew ; 
At  ev'ry  dawning  of  the  day, 

To  God  and  his  country  true. 


OUR  FRIEND,  THE  DANDELION 

Though  other  flowers  forsake, 
With  spring  do  fail  to  wake 
Life's  gloom,  its  gold  doth  break, 
Our  friend,  the  dandelion! 

With  robin  e'er  returns, 
Its  gold  by  way  side  burns, 
As  heart  for  joy  yearns, 
Our  friend,  the  dandelion! 

Like  one  doth  make  a  way, 
To  charm  with  fitful  play 
In  blooms  so  yellow,  gay. 
Our  friend,  the  dandelion! 

Yet  shineth  to  allure. 
Love's  strand   from  Heaven  pure, 
Mid  hope's  green,  golden,  sure. 
Our  friend,  the  dandelion ! 

87 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 

By  silv'ry  brook  with  dash  and  song. 

Some  tiny  flowers  grow  — 
As  blue  as  bluest  summer's  sky, 

Forget-me-nots  there  blow. 

F'orget-me-nots  in  season  bloom. 

For  lovers'  tryst  and  tale. 
No  more  than  roses  in  the  wood 

Do  these  fair  blossoms  fail. 

Nor  I  in  memory  fail  to  keep 

Some  sweet  words  of  the  past. 
Some  flowVs  of  mem'ry  ever  blue. 

Forget-me-nots  that  last. 

They  bloomed  for  me  when  two  slow  walked 

By  this  brook  gladly  singing, 
y\nd  type  of  fair  days  yet  to  come. 

Forget-me-nots  home  bringing. 


THE  OLD-TIME  LILAC  FLOWER 

Something  fair  and  sweet  in  air. 
Smiling  says,  "Do  not  despair," 
A  bush  doth  royal  censers  bear. 
The  old-time  lilac  flower ! 

Waving  'neath  May's  skies  of  blue. 
Quite  appeals  to  me  and  you. 
Now  youth's  brightness  doth  renew, 
The  old-time  lilac  flower ! 

S8 


Past  doth  gleam  upon  our  lot, 
Life's  page  white,  without  a  blot, 
Lost  in  faith's  forget-me-not. 
The  old-time  lilac  flower ! 

Blossoms  once  by  grandma's  door, 
Purple  as  in  days  of  yore, 
Tree  like  the  first,  that  blossoms  bore. 
The  old-time  lilac  flower ! 


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U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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